A Family's Blood
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: W/death of family member, comes the toughest challenge Tim's faced. He turns to Ziva. What develops- a relationship based on sex, lacking emotion, & leaving both uncertain where to go beyond the arrangement they stumbled into. Over months, both find maybe the reason neither's washed out to sea, is b/c they finally found their bearing, their place to call home- in each other's arms.
1. Chapter 1

**Blood and Bones **

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Summary: With the death of a family member, comes one of the toughest challenges Tim has ever faced. He turns to the one person who truly knows what it's like to deal with insurmountable loss- Ziva. What develops is a relationship based on sex, lacking emotion, and leaving both uncertain of where to go from beyond the arrangement they've stumbled into. But over the course of several months, both find- surprisingly- that they can't seem to focus without the other. And that may be the only reason neither has been washed out to sea yet, is because they've finally found their bearing, their place to call home- in each others' arms. **

They were words that quickly washed him out to sea.

_Your father died early this morning. His body's being shipped back stateside, and will be here within the week. I'm sorry, Agent McGee._

Keeping a straight face, he excused himself, slipping out of the director's office and heading back down to the bullpen. Both Tony and Ziva turned when they heard him coming. But instead of making a right and going back towards the bullpen, he turned to the left, heading for the bathroom. Once the door closed behind him, he went to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing water on his face.

_It was the tumor that killed him. Inoperable. Took him in his sleep._

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and just as quickly turned away. When he turned off the sink, he sank to the floor, struggling to catch his breath. It couldn't be true, it just... it couldn't. But it was.

He sat back against the wall near the door, leaning his head against the wall, knees to his chest, struggling to catch his breath as the realization sank in that his father was gone.

John McGee was dead.

The man had been a bastard, mentally and emotionally abusive to his children, but deeply devoted to his wife, until her death in ninety-eight. He'd left Sarah and Tim to fend for themselves, to rely on only each other, especially after their mother's death. And they had, only occasionally turning to Penny when they absolutely needed to- for the love they didn't receive from their father. And in the intervening years, both McGee children had seemed to close themselves off to the world around them. Both had given their hearts, only to have them shattered, they'd whispered soft words of love to the people they thought loved them, only to be rejected with heartbreaking consequences. Sarah had, subsequently, hidden within her schoolwork, and Tim had buried himself in his job.

He'd dated very little, had never gotten serious with anyone again, and had never- never- uttered those three little words to anyone but Sarah. He kept himself emotionally distant from any lover, any date, hiding behind computer programs and codes to cover up the heartbreak he'd felt at his father's abandonment. Those three little words had never passed his father's lips in his direction- not since he was a child of six, and his family had left Alameda for Atlanta. No matter what he did, no matter how good his grades, or how important his achievements, John had never said a word of praise in his son's direction. So Tim learned to take words at face value, to pour out his feelings in writing, and to never believe a word anyone said, unless they could back up what they were saying with fact.

Yes, John McGee had done serious damage to his children, especially his son.

But now he was gone, and Tim and Sarah could get along with their lives.

He didn't look up as the door swung open and shut softly, followed by a gentle voice. "McGee? Tim?" Slowly, he looked up into Ziva's concerned dark eyes. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, silent. Ziva watched her partner for several minutes, before kneeling down and searching his gaze. It was then that she saw the tears floating on the edges of his lashes, those beautiful green orbs wide and filled with pain. Something had obviously upset him, deeply, and Ziva could only guess what it was, or what it revolved around, since he'd been called into Vance's office that morning. He blinked, and the tears slipped down his cheeks, racing themselves towards the line of his jaw, and gently, she reached out, brushing them away with her thumb before either could win. "Tim, what happened?"

He took a deep breath, before shaking his head and getting up. "Nothing, Ziva. I'm... I'm fine." Then, he slipped out of the bathroom, leaving her crouching on the floor.

* * *

When Ziva returned to the bullpen, she found Tim sitting at his desk, working on the cold cases they'd been assigned, since no case had come their way. As she took a seat at her desk, the elevator doors opened, and someone stepped out. The person looked around for several minutes, before making their way towards the bullpen, slipping her phone back into her purse. "Timmy?" Both Ziva and Tony looked up to find Sarah McGee standing in the entrance to the bullpen, staring at her brother, who sighed and set his pen down. "Tell me it's not true, Timmy, _please_, tell me it's _not true_." She choked out, tears coming to her eyes.

Her older brother slowly stood, moving around his desk and going towards her. He took her elbow, pulling her out of the bullpen and back towards the alcove near the stairs. Tony and Ziva glanced at each other, before they both got up- Ziva, heading to the copier, Tony to eavesdrop on the siblings. But even from her place near the copier, Ziva could hear their conversation, and she found herself unable to keep from ignoring.

"This morning, Sar. Doctor confirmed; he finally succumbed to it. Personally, I'm glad he's dead-"

"How can you_ say_ that, Timmy? He was _our dad_!" Silence reigned for several minutes, as Tim grabbed his sister's shoulders, shaking her gently.

"He may have been our father, but he was _also_ abusive, or have you forgotten how he constantly went after us- he _nearly destroyed_ your psyche, _remember, Sarah_?"

"But he was_ still our dad_..." Sarah choked out, bursting into tears. When Ziva gathered her copies and turned to go back to her desk, she found Sarah curled into her brother's chest, sobbing as he gently rocked her back and forth. One hand ran through her wild curls, and he whispered softly to her, pressing kisses to her head. Clearly, he was well-versed in soothing techniques, because he didn't raise his voice or say anything that wasn't meant to try and calm her down. When Tim met her gaze, she saw the tears glistening in his eyes.

Yes, it was clear, for all Tim's disdain of his father, he still loved the man, despite all he'd put them through.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**A/N: Huh, that is ironic. I wasn't even aware it was Father's Day- I don't observe it much since my father passed away in '01. **

**Thanks to Gottahavemyncis, Sazzita and Reader for reviewing 1.**

Vance sent Tim home, telling him to take the week and get things settled- the funeral arrangements, the calling of family, the insurance policies, the settling of the assets. Reluctantly, he went, grabbing his gear and then taking his sister's hand. "Come on, Sarah. Sarah, _come on_!" The others in the bullpen watched as Tim wrapped an arm around the college student's waist and walked her to the elevator.

"Tim-" But only Sarah looked back as they headed to the elevator; the rest of the team stood in the bullpen entrance, watching as they stepped into the elevator-

And heard the beginnings of an argument.

_"We have to tell Aunt Siobhan." _

_"Aunt Siobhan hated Dad, Sarah, you know that!" _

_"But she's Mom's little sister!" _

_"If we tell her, you know how she'll react! She always thought Dad killed Mom as it is-"_

_"It wasn't true! She overdosed!"_

They heard no more as the doors finally closed and the box moved down to the ground floor. Both Tony and Ziva turned to Gibbs, expecting him to know instantly what was going on between the siblings, but he just shook his head, as confused as they were. "What... what happened, Boss?"

"Admiral McGee died." The three turned to see Vance come down the stairs.

"When?" Ziva asked, eyes widening, as suddenly, Sarah and Tim's reactions made sense- Sarah, the grieving daughter, and her brother, the one who denied any feeling towards the death of the man who'd brought him into the world.

"This morning, oh-six-hundred. Had to inform Agent McGee when he got here, and had my assistant call Waverly, and ask Sarah to come down so Tim could explain what happened. I've given him the week off to get everything in order and get his head on straight. And I don't want to find out you three have been trying to persuade him to come back to work until he's gotten everything settled, understood?" Tony and Ziva nodded, and after a moment, Gibbs did as well. Once Vance was satisfied and had returned to his office, Tony and Ziva returned to their desks. Gibbs slipped out for coffee, and eventually, Tony headed down to the break room to get something out of the vending machine. Realizing she was alone, Ziva slowly set her pen down and got up, wandering over to Tim's desk.

If anyone ask, she'd just say that she was looking for a pencil.

She slid her hands along his desk, studying the space that surrounded McGee's desk, and once she was sure no one was looking, took a seat in his chair. Instantly, his scent enveloped her, and she relaxed.

Coffee, sunshine, and typewriter ink. So distinctly, uniquely Tim.

Her gaze wandered over his desk; it looked exactly like hers, save for the little touches he'd added. Besides the phone and computers they all had, he had a few photographs, taken over the previous summer, when he and Sarah had gone down to Australia to visit their cousins for two weeks.

One photo showed the pair sitting on the hood of a jeep, somewhere in the Outback, probably having just come back from a hike. Sarah wore a wide-brimmed hat and Tim had a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes; the white halter and light blue shorts Sarah wore and the grey t-shirt and tank kakis Tim wore only emphasized the sun-kissed tan both had received. In the second photograph, the siblings were at their cousin Emma's home, out in the backyard, obviously enjoying the weather. All dressed in bathing suits, Tim and his cousin Jake, were trying to throw Sarah into the pool- Tim had ahold of her shoulders and arms, and Jake her legs. Sarah, in her purple bikini, was helpless to break free. They were both cute photographs, but the ones that had Ziva laughing silently were the last two.

In one, the cousins were at Sydney's Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras- one of their cousins, eighteen-year-old Amy- was openly gay, and had dragged her cousins and siblings to the festival- and somehow, Sarah had climbed onto her brother's shoulders. She was holding a sign that read,_ 'Sexuality, like race, shouldn't matter in love'. _Tim was holding onto her ankles, and Amy was on her knees in front of her cousin, dressed in a bright pink tutu and a low-cut bustier crop top holding the rainbow flag that had become the symbol of the LGBT community. On either side of the small group, Jake and Emma stood, also holding flags. All wore multiple necklaces of varying colors and were grinning.

And in the second, the two were lounging in the grass in Emma's backyard, with their cousins. They had either just been swimming or were just lounging in the sun, since they were either in bathing suits or regular clothes. Tim was lying on his stomach on the blanket they'd spread out, most likely having just gone for a swim, and he was resting his chin on his arms. But what Ziva found so funny was the fact that Tim was being sat on- Amy and Sarah were straddling his back, dripping wet from their swim- Sarah in her purple bikini, and Amy in a red one- grinning at the camera as they pinned Sarah's older brother down. Emma sat beside them in a blue bikini, giggling at the spectacle. And Tim had just managed to lift his head, and he had an expression on his face, as though both girls were boulders crushing him. Ziva chuckled softly; she could just imagine Tim's response to being sat on.

_"You two weigh a ton!"_

After a moment, she turned her gaze from the photos, turning to the small bookshelf behind his desk. A few books resided on it, mainly classics- Bronte, Du Maurier, Alcott, Rushidie, to name a few- as well as a few little trinkets he'd picked up over the years; her gaze landed on a matryoshka doll of the Russian Imperial family- something Tim had picked up when he and Sarah had gone to St. Petersburg with Penny the winter before. Slowly, she reached out, picking up the doll. As she moved to open it up, revealing Alexandra, she felt someone watching her, and quickly turned, the doll still held in her hand. "Gibbs, I-"

"Back to work, David. And leave McGee's matroyshka doll alone." She quickly did as told, though as she sat back at her desk, she was determined to open that doll and reveal the empress, the duchesses, the Tsarevich. And maybe, in doing so, she could do the same to Tim, and get him to open up to her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

Tim sighed; he glanced behind him. Sarah lay curled up on the sofa, sound asleep, a blanket over her. At least one of them was getting some sleep. He returned to the various documents he'd received today when he stopped by the office of his father's attorney- his father's various affects, a copy of the will and the funeral arrangements requested. As he looked over the papers, he felt his blood boil.

_Arlington._

John had requested he be buried at Arlington.

He dropped the papers and got up, pouring another cup of coffee, struggling to keep from shaking. This was one of the reasons why he hated being the oldest, the one put in charge. His mother had requested that they put the arrangements for their deaths in Tim's hands- saying htat he'd be of age by the time anything happened to them, and would fulfill their wished like they wanted. And John, who was so devoted to his wife, had gone along, giving his son the power of attorney. Penny, had, at the time, been off in India, and John and Emily knew that she would have refused anyway. So Tim had been given the job, at the age of six, without ever having to use it until now.

As he sipped his coffee, he thought back on his father's request. Strange, how he wanted to be buried at Arlington, even with the deep devotion he'd carried for his wife. One would have thought- or, at least Tim and Sarah would have- that John would have wanted to be buried in the military cemetery instead of the small cemetery where Emily was buried, clear out in California. He snorted, shaking his head.

Such devotion to his beloved Emily.

After a moment, he set his cup down and made his way towards the bedroom. As he took a seat on the bed, his cell rang, and he automatically picked it up.

Ziva.

He hit ignore, setting the phone back on the nightstand. Then, he laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, becoming lost in thought. Life just a hell of a lot harder- there would be the funeral to arrange, the assets to go through, the minor inheritance he and Sarah were to receive upon John's death; something Emily had set up when each of her children were born, to be received upon their deaths.

And then there would be the outside world to deal with- for Sarah, school, for him, work. He hated to admit it, but he was grateful Vance had given him the week off, because if he'd had to return tomorrow, he didn't see how he'd be able to survive. Not with everyone asking if he was okay, giving him their condolences, asking if he needed anything-

"See anything interesting?" He turned, meeting Sarah's gaze. She'd awoken from her nap on the sofa and come into the bedroom, climbing onto the bed and mimicking her older brother as he stared at the ceiling. He chuckled softly, shaking his head at the game they used to play as children.

"No_p_e." He replied, popping the end of the word like popping a piece of bubblegum. "You?" She shook her head, reaching down and taking his hand. They lay on the bed together, staring at the ceiling for several minutes, before Sarah turned her gaze.

"Timmy?" He met her gaze, waiting. "I... I know you're angry at Daddy, but..." She sniffled. "But he was _our dad_..." She choked on a sob. "And... and now he's _dead_..." She burst into tears, and Tim shifted onto his side, pulling his sister close. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. He rubbed her back, pressing kisses to her hair as he let her cry. As he glanced back at the ceiling, he silently cursed the bastard for putting them through this; the stress of this whole ordeal would kill either him or Sarah... or both.

* * *

Ziva took a deep breath, and raised her hand to knock, but something stopped her. Something didn't feel right. She had come over to check on Tim, to make sure he was okay, and to let him know that if he and Sarah needed someone to listen, she would be there, but something felt... off.

She felt as though she were peeking through her curtains, watching as the couple across the street had sex on the kitchen counter.

She knocked anyway, once, and then immediately turned to go, when the door opened. Slowly, she turned back, to see Tim leaning against the doorframe, blocking the view into his apartment. Sarah joined him, leaning against her brother, and it was then that Ziva saw the trails left on her cheeks from the tears. "Tim, Sarah-"

"Hi, Ziva." Sarah whispered, sniffling. Her brother remained quiet. "What are you doing here?"

The Israeli beauty swallowed thickly. "I... Vance... told us about your father. I... I am sorry. I know you did not get along, but... I... I know what it is like... to lose a... a family member, especially a parent." Ziva's father, Eli, had been gunned down, along with Jackie Vance, at a Shabbat dinner almost two years ago. Her mother had died in a Hamas bombing back when Ziva was in her early teens, and her sister Tali had died in a similar bombing when the girl herself was sixteen. So Ziva knew about loss, about being an orphan.

For even when her father had been alive, he'd neglected her so that it was almost as if he didn't know her at all. She knew about the pain, the endless throbbing pain of burying a parent, and the period of mourning, the long months it took to get back to normal and feel sane again. If anything, she hoped that she could help the McGee siblings adjust to this new map, this... new, undiscovered territory, if allowed.

The siblings watched her, two identical sets of emerald green staring at her with quiet anguish. It made her uncomfortable, and that was saying something, since hardly _anything_ made Ziva squirm. "So... so if... if either of you... if you ever want... want to talk... I..." She swallowed. "I will listen."

After a moment, Tim blinked, and Ziva saw the tears quickly race down his cheeks before he wiped them away, frustrated. They just studied her, and Ziva took it, trying hard not to fidget. It was Sarah that broke the never-ending silence this time. "Thank you, Ziva. But we're doing fine on our own." And then, without another word, she followed her brother back into his apartment, and softly shut the door, leaving Ziva standing in the hallway shaking badly, though she had no idea why.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

The next morning found Ziva at her desk, staring across the bullpen at Tim's, lost in thought. She couldn't get either Tim or Sarah's eyes out of her head; the misted, almost blank looks in their eyes, as though they'd both been put through so much torture that they'd drifted away from themselves to preserve what little sanity they had left, the silence, the sheer pain they were both obviously in. She looked around, but she was the only one in the bullpen, it was only about oh-six-hundred, after all.

So she got up, going to Tim's desk and kneeling down. Gently, she picked up the nesting doll and studied the detailed portrait of the last Russian Tsar painted upon the wooden surface. It was beautiful, delicate, much like Tim was.

Standing, she returned to her desk and set it down beside her computer. Her fingers traced the delicate strokes the brush had left, and the features of Nicholas, forever frozen in time. She reached up to lift the head off, and just as she began to pull the two pieces apart, Tony entered the bullpen with a yawn. Quickly, Ziva snapped the doll shut and hid it in the bottom cabinet of her desk with her gun. "Morning, Tony." He mumbled something as he sat down, leaning back in his chair and promptly falling asleep. As she pulled open her drawer, Gibbs entered, pushing Tony's feet off his desk and telling them to get back to work on their cold cases.

She'd only barely managed to stuff the doll into her bag before she left at ten later that night.

* * *

"Now, I understand that you wish to-"

But Tim wasn't listening to what the man was saying; he couldn't get the sight of Ziva standing in the hallway the night before, out of his head. She'd stood and fidgeted, playing with the sleeves of her jacket and shuffling her feet like a nervous teenager trying to ask her crush to the dance. He'd just watched her fidget, keeping silent while Sarah talked.

In all honesty, though, he'd longed to ask her to come in, to take her up on her offer to listen, and tell her everything that had gone on since discovering John's diagnosis. How Sarah had called him up one night, telling him about the phone call their dad had made, mistaking her for Emily and accusing her of infidelity, how he'd called his father and confronted him, and how, the next time John was docked in port, he'd tracked his kids down and- thanks to the tumor causing his irrationality, his change in personality- proceeded to try and beat his daughter to death, when Tim had stepped in and ordered Sarah to flee, taking the first beating his father had ever given either of them.

He'd longed to tell Ziva of how, once finished, John had sat back on the floor, sobbing, begging the ghost of his wife to forgive him for what he'd done; how Sarah had come in from the hall and sat on the floor, holding her father and whispering that it was okay, that she forgave him, even going so far as to kiss him softly on the lips, like their mother would do. And how, once his father had left, he and Sarah had locked themselves in the bathroom, how she'd forced her brother to sit on the edge of the tub and how Sarah had had no choice but to cut the strips of skin left from when his father had taken the hammer Tim had used to hang a picture the day before and used the claw of the hammer to beat him, since Tim refused to go to the hospital. Fortunately, one of the neighbors heard the fight, and, being an RN, had come over to check on the siblings. She'd helped tend to the wounds on Tim's back, only after promising the McGee kids that she wouldn't tell. He longed to-

"Mr. McGee?" His head snapped up, and he met the other man's gaze.

"I'm sorry?" The older man sighed.

"Maybe we should do this another time. I understand that your father's death is still very wrong, so how about you take a few days to come to terms, and then we can meet again on Friday? How does that sound?" Slowly, Tim nodded, not understanding, but accepting if it meant he could leave. They quickly shook hands, and then Tim rushed out of the office, stepping into the cool early evening air. He slid his hands into his pockets, and headed down the street, stopping near the coffee shop. He stared at his reflection, lost in thought, before shaking away the thoughts and hurrying back to his apartment.

All he wanted was to be home with Sarah, watching a movie to block the pain of the last couple days. When he slipped into the apartment, he found Sarah sitting on the sofa,_ Memoirs of a Geisha_ playing on the TV. "Do you think that'll be us?"

He removed his coat and tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Who, Sar?" He asked, fixing a cup of tea. His sister didn't take her tear-filled gaze away from the movie.

"That?" She nodded to the screen. Tim furrowed a brow.

"You thinking of become a geisha?" He tried to make it a joke, but found the humor stuck in his throat.

"No, Timmy. Do you think... do you think we'll... be able to... to do great things. Like Sayuri." Tim joined her on the sofa, setting a mug in front of her, confused.

"I don't understand, Sar." She meet his gaze.

"She was taken from her family... sold into basically slavery and... became a geisha. She lost... both her parents and her sister... and she moved on. She did great things. Do... do thing we can do the same? Move on?" He sipped his tea, thinking.

"I don't know, Sarah. Maybe." She sniffled, curling into her brother's embrace, tears slipping down her cheeks. He sighed; if the movie could take their minds off the chaos their father's death had thrown them into, even for a few hours, he'd willingly sit through the film. He just hoped he could concentrate on it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 4, Sazzita for reviewing 3 and 4; Reader for reviewing 2, 3 and 4. **

The stones of Arlington glistened in the late afternoon sun, the scent of rain filled the air, as clouds rolled in off the port. As she and the rest of the team came upon the area of the cemetery where John McGee was to be buried, she stopped. Vance had given the team the day off to attend the funeral, as a support to Tim and Sarah and Penny, and now, she and the others stood atop the small hill, watching as the men lowered the casket to the base it would rest on. But what got her was the sight of Tim and Sarah, sitting together across from the casket their father now resided in, holding hands.

She watched as Sarah rested her head on her brother's shoulder, as Tim brushed a soft kiss to her hair. And then her gaze wandered to Penny, who had now knelt in front of her grandchildren, reaching up and gently caressing their chins in each hand. She said something to them, and both Sarah and Tim nodded, before getting up. In the next moment, a teenager rushed towards them, throwing her arms around the agent.

Gently, Gibbs laid a hand on her arm, and Ziva turned. Without a word, they followed Vance and Gibbs down to the site, stopping when Penny made her way towards them. She thanked them all for coming, but Ziva wasn't paying attention to the conversation; she was too focused on the new arrivals. They looked awfully familiar, but she was certain she'd never met them before-

And then it hit her. The photographs.

Tim and Sarah's cousins.

Slowly, she made her way towards them, stopping several feet back, giving them time together, and matching name to the face in the photographs. Her gaze wandered to the older man- Jake, the middle of the three- and his wife, stood talking with the priest, having just gone to Tim and Sarah. And then there was Emma- the oldest, holding tight to Tim- and her fiancé; the ones who's pool and backyard played so prominently in the photographs on Tim's corkboard by his desk. Her gaze shifted to Sarah and the last girl- the youngest, Amy- the one who'd taken them to the Mardi Gras in Sydney.

Tim's head lifted, and his eyes latched onto hers. He softly excused himself, pulling away from Emma and making his way towards her. Once he got close, he stopped, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Hey. You... you came."

She nodded. "I would not have missed your father's funeral, McGee. You are part of my family." He gave her a fleeting smile, nodding quickly.

"Thank you, for coming, Ziva." She returned the soft smile, reaching out to gently rest her fingers against his cheek.

"How are you, Tim?" She whispered, searching those beautiful green eyes. He met her gaze, shrugging as he pulled away.

"I'm fine. Excuse me." She turned, her gaze following him as he made his way to the rest of the team. She had yet to lower her hand, but when she did, she could still feel the warmth of his skin on her fingers.

* * *

Gibbs hated military funerals. It wasn't so much the pomp and circumstance of the whole thing, but the pain it put the families through. And right now, his youngest son was suffering. They stood back from the row of chairs the family was seated in, and watched as the flag was removed from the coffin, folded-

He felt Ziva stiffen beside him.

They all watched as the sailor walked around the coffin, before stopping and kneeling before Tim and Sarah, holding out the flag. Sarah still had her arm linked through her brother's, and the team and the other guests watched as Tim slowly accepted the flag, holding it close. Sarah buried her face in her brother's shoulder, silent sobs shaking her whole body.

When the funeral ended and the mourners gave their condolences and left, the team gathered with Penny as she introduced her other grandchildren. They were Maria's- John's younger sister- children. They talked quietly, but Gibbs soon noticed that Ziva wasn't listening. He gently nudged her forward with the toe of his shoe, causing her to stumble and turn back to him. But he just let his gaze shift towards Tim and Sarah, and after a moment, Ziva nodded, going. But she stopped at the sight that met her.

Neither McGee sibling had moved from their seats since the funeral ended.

Sarah was curled into Tim's side, sobbing, and he just stared at the space where the coffin had sat, before being lowered six feet below. He held the flag in the crook of his arm, but stared through the ground, as though he were studying the coffin now below their feet. Ziva took a deep breath, but couldn't make her feet move. "They've taken it so very hard."

She turned, to find Penny behind her. "McGee didn't get along with his father."

"My son was a bastard, Agent David, there's no doubt about that. He neglected my grandchildren, yes, mentally and emotionally abused them, yes, but he was still their father, and there is still that loyalty towards him. My grandchildren have had plenty of time to hide the signs of their neglect, Ziva. They know better than anyone how to hide. Don't let them."

"What can I possibly-" But Penny took her hand, squeezing gently.

"Don't let them hide, Ziva. Otherwise, they need you and the rest of the team now more than ever." Slowly, Ziva nodded, glancing back at the two. Tim whispered something to Sarah, and she wrapped an arm around shoulders, burying her face in his neck. _"Tim_ needs you, Ziva. More than he's ever willing to admit. Don't let him go through this alone."


	6. Chapter 6

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

She sipped her glass of wine, Penny's words ringing in her head. Her gaze wandered to the nesting doll on her coffee table. After a moment, she set her glass down and reached out, picking up the doll. It was beautiful, truly beautiful.

Her mother had told her once that matryoshka dolls were just artist copies of people- each doll reflected a part of a person; that each reveal, was like a person revealing another aspect of their personality. They were reflections of the soul of a person.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly twisted the doll apart, slowly parting the head and with the body. Once she removed Nicholas's head, she set it down on the table. Alexandra stared at her, forever silenced. Gently, Ziva removed the doll from within and put Nicholas back together before turning to Alexandra-

A knock on the door caused her to freeze, and she looked up. After a moment, another knock sounded, softer, as though the person on the other side of the door was hesitating. Quickly, Ziva put the dolls back together before slipping it back in her bag and slipping her bag onto the floor of the closet. Then, she made her way towards the door, slowly pulling it open.

"Tim. Ah... what..." But she stopped.

He was a wreck, that much was apparent. But what got to Ziva were the beautiful green eyes. Filled to the brim with tears, they held all the pain and despair of a man who'd just lost everything and everyone in the world. He was soaked to the skin, thanks to the storm outside, and looked exactly like a lost puppy, as Abby would call him. She stepped aside. "Come in." She whispered, stepping back.

Her colleague stepped inside, and she moved passed him, shutting the door. When she turned back, she felt his arms wrap around her, and soon he buried his face in her hair. She could feel his shoulders shaking, and slowly, reached up, wrapping her arms around him, tangling a hand in his hair, as sobs soon began to wrench themselves from his throat. Soon, soft Hebrew lullabies- the same ones her mother had sung to her- began to fall from her lips, and she pressed a kiss to his head, letting him cry.

Finally, she led him to the sofa, and they sat together, Tim held tight in her arms, all the pain he'd been holding in for the past week coming out. A few tears slipped down her own cheeks at the pain her partner was going through, and she wished she could take it all away, spare him this heartache. If she could have, she'd gratefully take all his pain and lock it away with hers, with the pain she'd felt when she'd buried her father. Time passed, and Ziva sat on the sofa with Tim, letting him cry, letting him feel the pain he'd hidden for so long. She rocked him gently back and forth, humming softly to him, occasionally pressing a kiss to his head.

Eventually, he pulled away, quickly wiping at the tears on his cheeks. "I... I'm sorry, Ziva. I... I never should have-" She reached up, taking his head in her hands.

"No, Tim, don't apologize. You _needed_ this. You needed to feel this." She gently brushed the tears off his cheeks, searching his eyes. He met her gaze, taking a deep breath. And before he could back up, before he could rise and flee, he leaned close, capturing Ziva's lips in his.

* * *

Their clothing fell like the rain outside. Somehow, someway, they ended up on the floor in front of the fireplace, sharing kisses and touches and allowing the smoke from the crackling flames to cover their bodies like a second skin. She looked up at him, searching his gaze briefly before taking his lips in hers. He tasted like rainwater, like coffee, and the heartbreaking taste of pain.

When they broke the kiss, he moved his lips to her neck, then over her collarbones and down her chest. He pressed a kiss to her naval, before returning to her mouth. They took their time, being cautious, tender; savoring every moment together. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she ran one hand down his back while the other tangled in his hair.

She groaned softly as he entered her, tightening her hold on his hips with her thighs as he continued to move deeper into her. Their kisses deepened, and she tangled her fingers deeper into his hair, as her other hand dug gently into his back. But something felt wrong; his normally smooth skin felt... different. But maybe it was just her imagining things. As he worked on her neck, Penny's words came rushing back to her.

_Tim needs you. More than he's ever willing to admit. Don't let him go through this alone._

She highly doubted that this was what Penny meant, but she didn't really care. She had adored Tim, from the moment they met- he'd been the only one who had welcomed her to the team after Kate's death, the only one who didn't turn his back on her after the debacle with Rivkin. He was the only one who'd tried to get in contact with her when she disappeared in Somalia, and it had been his plan that sent the team to the terrorist cell that had been holding her hostage. Sure, Tony had gone along with it, even saying that he had a hand in the plan, but in the end, after all was said and done, Ziva knew. She knew that the whole plan to find her, to go to Somalia, to save her, had been Tim's idea.

He'd never given up hope; never given up on her.

Even when she'd pushed him away after Somalia, after her father died, after Ray's betrayal... he'd always been there, holding out a hand, giving her a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen... it was her turn to do the same for him.

But as she screamed his name, as she tightened around him, and heard his sweet release in her ear, she couldn't help but realize that while Penny thought she would have it easy, it was actually going to be much more difficult to get Tim to open up. But even as they collapsed in each others' arms, as he buried his face in her chest and tightened his arms around her waist, as she held him close and stroked his hair, she realized that maybe he needed her more than she thought.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

A sigh escaped her throat, and she relaxed, burrowing further into the pillow beneath her head.

Wait a minute.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she shifted, looking over her shoulder. She was no longer lying on the floor, instead, she was curled up on the sofa, a blanket draped over her; the fire had since died to ash, and it was quiet. She pushed herself up, only to find that she was alone.

Slowly, she pushed the blanket to the furthest arm of the sofa, and sat up, putting her feet on the floor. She was sore from the night's activities, but a part of her screamed that it was the kind of soreness she enjoyed, and that she should find Tim and ask to experience it again. She quickly shook the thoughts away and got up, making her way towards the bathroom, and starting the shower.

* * *

When she came into work that morning, the Monday after the funeral, she was surprised to see Tim sitting at his desk, checking through his e-mail. She put her bag behind her desk, and wandered over to his desk. "Hey." He didn't look up. She licked her lips, trying again. "How are you doing? You okay?" He glanced quickly at her, before returning to his work.

"Fine, Ziva." She nodded.

"Good. That... that's good." She watched him for several minutes, hoping he'd say something more, but he kept his gaze trained on his computer. After a moment, she returned to her desk, wanting desperately to talk to him, but unsure of how to start. They worked in silence, neither noticing when Tony entered and plopped into his chair. Eventually, Gibbs showed up, and they spent the next few hours working on the cold cases they'd been given the week before. Ziva kept watching Tim out of the corner of her eye, but he kept quiet, and whenever Tony tried to goad a response out of him with some sort of joke or taunt, he would ignore the older agent. It took several across the room head slaps for Tony to get the hint and leave Tim alone.

At one point, Ziva looked up from her work to see Tim gone, and after making some excuse about going to the break room for a soda, she quickly rushed of to the bathroom. Without a second thought, she pushed open the door to the men's room, slipping inside and catching it quickly as it shut. Tim looked up from washing his hands, not at all surprised to see her in the bathroom. However, the other man at the urinal was surprised, and quickly finished, rushing from the room. "Hello. And goodbye." She smiled quickly at the man, but he grabbed the handle and fled as soon as she'd stepped away from the door. Her gaze latched on the door handle, and she shivered, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue in disgust. "What is it with people and not washing their hands?"

She turned to Tim, wandering over to him with as much confidence as she could muster at that moment. "What are you doing in here, Ziva?" The Israeli beauty leaned against the sink counter, tapping her fingers against the countertop nervously.

"We... we need to talk." Tim sighed and shut off the water, quickly shaking his hands and then grabbing a couple paper towels. He quickly dried his hands, and moved towards the door. "Please, Tim."

The junior agent sighed, turning back and holding out his arms. "If it's about that night, Ziva, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take advantage of you. I wasn't thinking clearly, and it should never have happened. And I can promise you that it won't happen again."

She cocked her head to the side, confused. "Tim," A moment passed, as she sighed and righted her gaze, though he wouldn't meet hers. "you should not be apologizing. If anyone had taken advantage of your state of mind that night, it was me. I should have stopped what we were doing and... I didn't. I did not mean to take advantage of you like I did. You were vulnerable and in pain and emotional turmoil, and I took major advantage. And for that, I am deeply sorry."

He nodded, silent. They stood together, Ziva desperately trying to meet his gaze, and Tim refusing to let her. Eventually, though, he whispered,

"Well, it will never happen again, Ziva. I promise."

Then, without a word, he moved past her, leaving the bathroom and returning to the bullpen. She sighed, watching as the door shut softly behind him. After a moment, she followed, hurrying to catch up with him, but he was already seated at his desk and working. Gibbs looked up, blue eyes boring into hers, and she quickly returned to her desk, casting a glance at Tim as she sat down. Silence filled the bullpen for several minutes, and Ziva forced herself to keep calm, to not look at Tim, to not get up and go over to him, but it was hard. She hated to see him hurting like he was, even if he wouldn't admit it.

The elevator doors opened, and someone stepped out, making their way towards the stairs, before they stopped and poked their head into the bullpen. The team looked up, except for Tim. "Can I help you?" Gibbs asked, studying the woman. Tony, of course, instantly perked up.

"Hey, you new here? I'm very special Agent Anthony DiNozzo-" But the woman chuckled nervously and glanced around.

"I... I know who you are. You're Tony. And Agent Gibbs. And," She turned to the desk diagonal to Tim's. "that mean's that you're Ziva. Timmy's told me so much about you." Her gaze landed on the junior agent, and she made a beeline towards him as the others watched. "Timmy?" He looked up, surprised to see her.

"Emma." He rose to his feet, confused. "What are you... doing..."

"Penny got a call from Waverly, Tim. Sarah had a meltdown in her psychology class and they... they took her to the hospital..."

"Wh... where is she?" He demanded, skin turning ashen, even as he methodically grabbed his things. Emma swallowed, choking on the words.

"The psych ward."


	8. Chapter 8

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 6; Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 7, and Reader for reviewing 5, 6 and 7.**

Tim didn't bother asking Gibbs for time off, he didn't bother shutting down his computer or saving the files he'd been working on. He didn't bother going to Vance and asking to take the day, he just slung his bag over his shoulder and took the hand Emma held out. The rest of his team, as well as several other teams and the Director, up on the catwalk, watched as the cousins rushed from the bullpen, back towards the elevator.

And Ziva, for some unknown reason she didn't even understand, followed, stopping as the doors slid shut. But the sight that left her tugged at her heart.

Tim held tight to his cousin, head resting on her shoulder, sobs causing his shoulders to shake. Emma held him close, tangling her fingers in her hair, letting him break down.

As she turned from the closed elevator doors, she found Tony and Gibbs watching her, and quickly, she wiped away the few tears that had slid down her cheeks at Tim's heart-wrenching sobs. But before she could apologize, Gibbs joined her, motioning for Tony to come. With a quick glance towards Vance, who nodded, he pressed the button and led the remaining members of his team into the elevator.

"Where... where are we going, Gibbs?" Ziva asked softly. He didn't say anything for several minutes, before,

"Bethesda."

* * *

They found Tim sitting with Penny and his cousins in the waiting area of the hospital. "Tim!" Without a word to her other coworkers, Ziva rushed to the remaining members in the McGee family, throwing her arms around Tim's shoulders when he stood and she got close enough. He stumbled back, before catching his balance and gently resting his hands on her waist. He kept quiet, surprised at Ziva's reaction.

"How is she?" Gibbs asked as Penny got up and quickly accepted his hand, squeezing gently. She respected Gibbs; he'd helped shape her Timothy more than her own son had, and she was grateful that he had a father-figure to turn too.

"The doctor and a psychologist are with her, doing an evaluation. Apparently, the professor started talking about anti-social personality disorder in class and Sarah broke down sobbing. They had to remove her literally kicking and screaming from the lecture hall." Gibbs winced, remembering what it was like to suffer a break with reality- it had happened briefly after the bombing that had left him in the hospital with amnesia, not two years after Tim had joined the team. His gaze moved to his two youngest; Ziva had latched onto him, holding him close, but after a moment, Tim pushed her away, stepping out of her embrace and around her. He glanced quickly at the others, before excusing himself and heading towards the small break area.

"Timmy's taking this the hardest." Gibbs and the others turned to the teenage girl sitting two seats from where Tim had been sitting. Amy looked up at them, wringing her hands in her lap. "He and Sarah are really close. Closer than Em and Jake and I are." She snorted softly. "Then again, I guess child abuse does that to you. And us... we were never abused." She whispered, glancing at her hands.

"We know all about the psychological and emotional abuse Uncle John put Timmy and Sarah through." Emma said, turning back to the others. "It's hard to keep it hidden from family. They know your darkest secrets after all." Tony winced; he certainly knew about dark family secrets. Emma sighed and took a seat in the chair Tim had vacated. "Jake and I used to joke that Uncle John and Aunt Emily's family were the modern day version of the Dollangangers."

Ziva furrowed a brow. "Dollangangers?" Emma nodded.

"The characters in V.C. Andrews's novel_ Flowers in the Attic_. Jeffery Bloom made a movie based on the book in 'eighty-seven, with Kristy Swanson and Louise Fletcher in the characters of the Grandmother and the Cathy, the granddaughter. It was a fairly low budget film, with terrible acting and horrible effects, but overall, it was what you'd expect for the late eighties. There's talk of a remake, but..." Tony shrugged as everyone turned to him. But Emma nodded.

"Exactly." She turned back to Gibbs and Ziva. "They were beautiful, all of them. Aunt Emi was dark- dark-haired, dark-eyed- like you, Agent David. Uncle John was your typical blonde-haired all American boy, with striking green eyes that... that he passed on to Timmy and Sarah. Sarah took after Aunt Emi with her dark hair, and Timmy looked just like Uncle John, blonde and..." Emma shrugged. "Just beautiful, both of them. Still are." She glanced back towards the room they'd taken Sarah too.

"The... the abuse was... similar. Psychological, emotional... like the movie. No incest though." Amy swallowed, struggling to pick up where Emma left off. "But the abuse was always there. They kept it locked up in the attic, buried in the basement, hidden in the closet, behind closed doors kind of thing. But we could see it, even if they never said anything."

"But... Sarah told me once that... that their father was devoted to their mother-"

"He was." Amy cut Ziva off, meeting her gaze. "Deeply devoted. Aunt Emi... Aunt Emi was our uncle's everything, and... and when she died... it destroyed him."

The Israeli narrowed her gaze. Something about that didn't seem to fit with what she'd heard Tim tell Sarah that first day, when all this started.

_"... always thought Dad killed Mom..."_

And yet, here were Tim and Sarah's cousins, claiming the opposite; that John McGee had deeply loved his wife, had been devastated by her death, and had struggled to go on without her. Which was the truth? What Tim believed, or what his cousins believed?

Suddenly, the sound of pounding brought everyone's attention from the conversation. Without a word to anyone, Ziva rushed towards the break area, knowing exactly what was going on.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

She skidded to a stop; Tim sat on the floor, near the vending machine, knees to his chest and his head in his hands. Slowly, cautiously, so as not to startle him, Ziva made her way towards him, taking a seat next to her coworker. She reached out, fingers brushing against his shoulder and quickly pulled back as he jumped, choking on a sob as he raised his head to meet her gaze. Tears slide down his cheeks, filling his eyes and reminding her of a lost child who'd gotten separated from his mother at the mall.

It took a moment, but when he realized who it was, he leaned over, wrapping his arms around his partner and burying his face in her hair. Ziva held him, pulling him close and tangling one hand in his hair as she rubbed his back.

When she looked up, she found Gibbs, Tony, and the rest of Tim's family watching them.

* * *

She took a deep breath, the memories of that afternoon still fresh in her mind. Sarah had been forced to stay in the hospital overnight for observation; the doctors had determined that her break had been caused by a good amount of stress, coupled with a new shift in her life and environment and the repressed trauma both she and Tim suffered from. The funeral hadn't helped matters.

But what had surprised Ziva the most, was that the doctors had concluded that most likely the lecture on anti-social personality disorder had caused Sarah to flash back to her childhood, and the abandonment and neglect they'd suffered at their father's mental and emotional abuse. The doctor had then taken the others aside and told them that it was only a matter of time before Tim also broke down; that siblings that suffered abuse- at least, mental, emotional and psychological- usually broke down within weeks of each other, and to be prepared.

And Gibbs, upon hearing that, had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't going to let that happen.

As she now raised the glass to her lips, she stopped, studying the color.

A nice, rich burgundy. Darker than red, closer to the color of blood.

It instantly reminded her of what the McGee siblings were going through; for her, blood symbolized abuse, pain, heartbreak. Broken promises and abundant lies. The cruelty she'd often seen flash within her father's eyes, the curl of his lip. For Ziva, it symbolized the torture she'd gone through in Somalia. For Tim, it would mean something else entirely, and yet, some of the same, just in a different context.

She set the half-full glass on the coffee table and stared at it.

She didn't even consider the matryoshka doll, and didn't get a chance, with a soft knock interrupting her thoughts. Quickly, she got up, going to the door and pulling it open. Tim stood in front of her, twisting his hands. He glanced at her, and Ziva sighed, stepping back silently. As she shut the door, he backed up, keeping his distance. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he silently explored her kitchen; he had often come over to help her cook on the nights she had dinner parties, and they spent a lot of time sharing childhood memories of their mothers, bonding over their favorite dishes and the hardest recipes they'd ever tried. Now, though, she watched as he gently ran his fingers along the granite countertop.

He turned back to her, and she went to the coffee table, snatching up the bottle and the glass and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, she held the glass out to him, the wide bowl of the glass held gently within her hand, the stem and foot hanging beneath her fingers. He studied her for a moment, before slowly taking the glass. She watched in silence as he took a sip of the wine before handing it back to her. A moment passed, before she took the glass back and took a sip, accepting the taste of the drink that for an hour had resided in her glass, waiting to be drunk. She handed him the glass back and he took another sip; slowly, her arms moved around his neck, fingers playing with the goose down at the nape of his neck. When he held the glass out to her again, she met his gaze, before accepting it back and taking another sip.

They stayed that way, sipping from the same glass, refilling at various times and eventually sharing quick, light kisses. With each sip and each kiss, she felt his walls begin to crumble a little more, to see hints of the boy who'd clung to her that afternoon in Bethesda, who was terrified of losing his sister, of losing the only other one who understood what they'd suffered at the hands of their father. What he didn't realize, was that the woman in his arms, pressing soft kisses to his lips and tangling her fingers in his hair, had suffered a similar childhood, at the hands of her own father.

Two halves of the same whole; portions of the same beach- one the waves, the other the waves- crashing together and meeting for the briefest of moments before parting, only to return once again to each other.

Neither knew, that like the beach and the waves that met, and kissed and parted in a well-known, well-rehearsed dance, they too would create their own dance, rehearsing and rehearsing until they too knew it by heart, much like the sea and sand. That these late-night dalliances would become routine, something neither could live without.

With the wine finished and the glass empty, Ziva set it on the counter, before reaching up and tangling her fingers in his hair. Their lips met and parted in quick kisses before coming back together and deepening, tongues exploring and claiming with the taste of wine and passion to deepen the desire. He pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her waist, as his other hand reached up and tangled in her hair. He broke the kiss, tugging her hair gently until she pulled back, and after briefly searching her gaze, he leaned down, lips working on the swell of her breasts that was left exposed by her blouse.

At one point, she pulled away, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, before allowing him to help her out of her jeans, leaving her only in her underwear and blouse. One hand ran over his beautiful physic; he had worked hard for this, even though his dramatic weight loss had at first worried her, for she'd feared he'd gotten ill...

She pushed him into a chair at her kitchen table, climbing into his lap and pressing herself against him as their lips met in another hungry kiss. She smiled into his kiss as she felt his response to her, and after a moment, climbed to her feet and tugged him to his, helping him out of his pants, even as he pulled her blouse off her and then worked on her bra. By the time they'd both slipped out of their underwear, she wanted nothing more than to take him in every chair and on every piece of furniture in her apartment. Their lips met in a deep kiss as they began to work out a dance that would soon become a very familiar, very binding routine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 9 and Reader for reviewing 8 and 9.**

Again, like she had the time before, she awoke on the sofa, a pillow resting beneath her head and blanket tucked around her body. The wine glass was in the sink and the bottle in the recycling bin, the chairs all situated around the table as though nothing had happened.

Every muscle in her body screamed otherwise.

She sighed, looking around, brushing her hair out of her eyes, before her gaze landed on the coffee table.

Sitting in front of her was an almond bear claw.

Slowly, she reached out, picking up the pastry. No one knew how much she liked the glazed, nutty treat.

No one but Tim.

A moment passed as she breathed in the sweet scent of cinnamon and almonds, before taking a bite.

* * *

"Thank you for the bear claw." He turned to her, not at all surprised to see her in the elevator, when he hadn't even noticed her enter. He shrugged, sipping his coffee.

"Was the... least I could do, after last night." She nodded, stopping him before he could open his mouth again.

"Don't say it. I do not regret it, and I know you don't either, so don't. Don't even_ think_ it, Timothy McGee." He sighed; when the elevator arrived at their floor, he shot out so fast, Ziva thought she saw smoke.

She sighed, following, watching silently as he took a seat at his desk and turned his computer on, but didn't move to check his e-mail. Instead, he was constantly checking his phone. She nodded, remembering. Sarah was still in the hospital, and had yet to be released. She looked around; Gibbs was most likely skulking around somewhere, and Tony had yet to arrive...

Pushing her chair back, she went to him, rubbing his back as she slipped behind his desk, asking,

"Any word on Sarah?" He shook his head, silent. A moment passed, before he turned to her. She leaned back against the small table beside his bookcase, crossing her arms. "Talk to me, Tim." But all his green eyes did was study her; he kept quiet, eventually turning from her and glancing at the photographs on his corkboard. Ziva's gaze followed, and she noticed as he reached up, brushing his fingers over the image of the two of them sitting together on Jake's jeep, grinning from ear to ear on that hot summer day in the Australian Outback. Her gaze snapped to him as she noticed his shoulders begin to shake with soft sobs, and after a moment, she got up, going to him and wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. She pressed a kiss to his hair, feeling him reach up and take her hand in his. "I am so sorry, Tim."

He choked on a sob, meeting her gaze. They stared into each others' eyes for several seconds; gently, Ziva brushed a tear off his cheek, before slowly leaning close-

The sound of footsteps caused Tim to pull away, though Ziva didn't move. Gibbs just glanced at the pair, and seeing the tears in his junior agent's eyes, sighed. He took a seat, leaving them be, but keeping a close eye on them. Realizing that she would never be able to kiss him like she desperately wanted to with Gibbs there, she settled for brushing a kiss to his forehead. When she pulled away, Tim removed her hands and got up, rushing from the bullpen just as Tony arrived. "Whoa, where's the fire, McHasty?" But one look at Tim's tortured green eyes told Tony exactly what was going on, and he let the younger man flee.

Once he was gone, Ziva moved to go back to her desk, when Tim's cell rang. She should have left it alone, but one glance at the ID told her it was important. "Agent David."

"Timmy, thank... Agent David?" Ziva nodded.

"Yes. Tim is... he is busy."

The caller on the other end of the line paused for a moment, before,

"Agent David, it's Emma. Can you tell Timmy that I'm at the hospital with Penny and the others?"

Ziva glanced at her coworkers, who were listening with interest. "I will, but... what should I-"

"Sarah's awake, and she's asking for him."

* * *

The bathroom door opened and Ziva silently stepped inside. "Tim?" He didn't look up from the sink. He just held onto the counter and rocked silently back and forth on his heels. She watched, saw how he struggled to regain control of his emotions. He choked on a sob, and though the first thing Ziva wanted to do was rush to him and pull him into her arms, kiss him and tell him everything would be okay, she didn't. She stayed where she was. "Tim?"

A moment passed, before he slowly raised his head. His green eyes were red and raw, and tears slipped down his cheeks. He was silent, and Ziva suddenly found herself nervous. She mentally shook herself. _Don't be ridiculous, this is McGee! He's your partner! You have no reason to be nervous!_

Her gaze met his, and she shook herself. "What?"

"Is there a reason why... you're in here, Ziva?" He choked out, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat. She nodded.

"Your cousin... Emma called. She's at Bethesda with Penny and Sarah's awake. She's asking for you." Tim sighed, nodding, and moved past her. She quickly followed, watching as he grabbed his things and headed for the elevator. With a glance at Gibbs, who nodded, Ziva grabbed her things and went with him, squeezing his hand gently as they stepped into the elevator. As they entered the parking garage, Ziva tightened her grip on his hand, tugging him towards her Mini Cooper. "Come on. I will take you." He shook his head, pulling away, but she tightened her grip and tugged him closer. "Tim, you are in no condition to drive, and I do not mind."

After a moment, he reluctantly agreed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

Ziva followed, skidding to a stop as she watched Tim rush to Emma. The older woman wrapped her cousin in a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, she pushed him towards the door of Sarah's room. Once he was gone, Emma turned back to Ziva. Slowly, the woman wandered towards her. "Come on, Agent David, let's go get coffee."

Before Ziva could protest, Emma had linked their arms, and gently tugged her towards the cafeteria. They walked in silence for several minutes, before Ziva asked,

"Is... is Sarah okay?" Emma nodded. "What's going to happen to her?" Emma sighed.

"They're going to evaluate her-"

"I thought they already did." Emma met her gaze.

"They had a psychiatrist evaluate her yesterday. She's going to be evaluated by a psychologist today, and once her diagnosis is complete, they will go from there." Ziva stopped, turning to the older woman.

"Um... her?" Emma nodded.

"Yes. A Doctor... Rachel Cranston." Ziva took a deep breath, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Agent David?"

"I know Dr. Cranston, Emma. She is the clinical psychologist for NCIS. She did the evaluations of everyone when we returned from Somalia." Emma furrowed her brow.

"Um... s... Somalia?" Ziva nodded, suddenly realizing that Emma clearly had no idea what she was talking about. She met the older woman's gaze.

"Tim never... never told you what he does? Never... said anything about the cases we work?" Emma frowned briefly, shaking her head.

"No. He doesn't want to worry us; all he'll say is that... what he does is dangerous. Believe me, I know all about dangerous. But my husband works for the ADIBP- the Department of Immigration and Border Protection. Wish he didn't, but..." She shrugged. "Can't help but love the ones you choose, right?" Ziva nodded, Emma's words bouncing in her head. "So... what is this about Somalia?"

The Israeli beauty snapped out of her thoughts, meeting Emma's eyes before they continued on. Over the course of their walk to the cafeteria, she explained all that had gone on, how Tim had orchestrated the team's plan to rescue her, and the mission that had nearly cost them all their lives. She told of how, even after returning to the States, Tim had asked for no praise, no applause, and had actually stepped aside, allowing Tony to take over. She talked about how Tony seemed convinced that she was perfect for him, and how he had whispered during one mission that he was in love with her. And then she'd explained how she'd broken his heart, telling her that she wasn't in love with him, could never be in love with the man she looked on as an older brother, and how Tim had been her shoulder to cry on, her rock, and yet, he seemed preoccupied with other women.

Emma chuckled. "What is so funny?" The Aussie looked up, meeting her gaze, eyes dancing.

"You are truly clueless." It was Ziva's turn to look puzzled. "Have you ever wondered why you are always the one to rush to Tim when he needs help? Or needs to be taken care of?" Ziva shook her head. "Well it's simple." Ziva again shook her head, not understanding. "Ziva, you're in love with him. You're in love with my cousin." Ziva stopped outside the cafeteria, mouth dropping. There was no way that was true.

"I... I am _not_ in love with Tim!" She replied finally, following.

* * *

"What happened, Sarah?" The younger girl sniffled.

"P... Professor Martin... he started talking about... about what makes an antisocial narcissist, the varying... distinctions of such a personality disorder... and... when he said that... that most people with that disorder... that a very small percentage commit murder... I thought about Mama..." She choked on a sob, before finally breaking down. _"You were right, Timmy... I... I remember... Daddy... he killed Mama..."_

Tim wrapped her in his arms, allowing her to bury her face in his shoulder, her arms wrapping tight around his neck. Gently, he rubbed her back, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. When he looked up, it was as the door opened and Dr. Cranston entered, the attending doctor with her. "Ah, Agent McGee. Good to see you again. I wish it were under better circumstances." Tim nodded, turning back to Sarah and pressing a kiss to her head.

"Agent McGee, I'm sorry, but-" He nodded, getting up to follow the nurse, but Sarah refused to let go as he stood.

"_No! Timmy, please, don't! Stay! Don't go! Please, don't leave me!"_ He glanced at Dr. Cranston and the nurse, before turning back to Sarah.

"I-"

"It's okay, Agent McGee. You're welcome to stay if you want to." Tim met Rachel's gaze. A moment passed, before he returned to the bed; his sister immediately curled into his arms, burying her face in his chest, sobbing. Silent, Rachel took a seat on the end of the bed, and pulled a pad and pen out of her bag. She took a deep breath, studying the siblings, before asking softly, "Sarah, can you calm down enough to talk to me?"

Several minutes passed, with Tim whispering softly to his sister. Eventually, the girl nodded, and managed to stem her sobs so she could speak. "Go on, Sar. I'm here." She glanced back at her brother, who nodded, and pressed a kiss to her head. Rachel gave him a soft smile before asking,

"Can you tell me what happened, Sarah?" The girl nodded, swallowing. In a soft, frightened voice, she explained how her professor had been explaining the various types of personality disorders, including antisocial narcissistic personality, and had made mention of a variant of cases where such a personality disorder was attributed to the killers- Jeffery Dahmer, Ted Bundy, the killers of sixteen-year-old Skylar Neese and twelve-year-old Shanda Sharer to name a few- when suddenly, Sarah began to realize he was describing her father.

"Daddy was like that." She whispered, curling into herself. "He would... be loving one minute and... verbally abusive the next." She choked on a sob, wiping at her eyes. "He never hit us... not until that night... but he... he hurt Mama."

"What night? Sarah, what night? Can you tell me?" Rachel asked, leaning close and resting a hand on the girl's wrist. Sarah pulled away, turning into her brother's chest. "Tim?" He bit his lip, weighing the options.

_No. This is one secret you have to keep hidden._

He shook his head. "Sorry, Dr. Cranston. I don't... Sarah's tired; she doesn't know what she's talking about." Rachel narrowed her eyes, but decided to file it away, to bring it up at later date with the older of the siblings. Tim sighed. "Dad loved our mom. Deeply. More than he loved us." He pressed a kiss to Sarah's head, feeling Rachel's gaze on him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

They all looked up as Rachel stepped out of the room, Tim behind her. They stood talking in hushed tones for several minutes; tones that soon rose as the conversation got heated.

"_Abused? How can you ask that? Neither Sarah nor I were abused!"_

"I'm not saying that you were physically, Tim, I'm say, that maybe you were emotionally, mentally abused. Maybe even psychologically abused." He shook his head.

"No."

"Tim-" But he pulled away when Rachel reached out to take his hand.

"_No!_ Sarah _wasn't_ abused and _neither_ was I! Our parents loved us!"

"Your mother yes, but from what I was able to get out of Sarah, your father-"

_"You didn't get anything out of her! She doesn't know what she's saying, all right?"_

"Tim, if your father murdered your mother, then there needs to be an investigation. You need to know-"

"We don't need to know anything, Dr. Cranston! We know everything we have to. Mom died when I was seven, Sarah was four. She was depressed. She_ overdosed on sleeping pills_. I know, because I found her. Our dad was a Navy Admiral who spent more time among his men than his own family, but he loved Mom more than anything. And he recently-"

"And you?" Rachel asked, her voice calm. "Did your father love you and Sarah the same as your mother? Or just your mother?" Tim narrowed his eyes. Ziva, meanwhile, had rushed towards him, but Emma had grabbed her arm, shaking her head.

"But-" The older girl moved closer.

"Let them work this out, Ziva. When Tim gets defensive, he lashes out. And when he's defending Sarah-" She stopped, gaze going back to her cousin. Ziva followed, wanting desperately to take him in his arms and whisper that it would be okay, that he needed to calm before he made himself sick.

"That's not the point, Dr. Cranston." Rachel stepped closer, studying his features. His green eyes misted over, but he quickly blinked any hint of tears away.

"What is the point, Tim?" He took a deep breath.

"Dad recently died of a brain tumor. We buried him four weeks ago. Now we have to get on with our lives, and Sarah and I only have each other. That's it. Mom and Dad are both dead, and Sarah and I have to pick up the pieces, like we always do." He turned to go, but Rachel grabbed his arm.

"Tim, Sarah said that she _witnessed_ your father murdering your mother, you _have_ to look into-"

"_Nothing happened_!" He snapped, yanking his arm from her grasp. "_Okay_? _Nothing. Happened_! Now please, just leave us alone." Then, without a word, he slipped back into Sarah's room. Rachel sighed, making her way to the others.

"How is she?" Jake asked, as Amy curled into his side. The teenager wiped at her eyes, struggling to keep from breaking into sobs. Sarah was only a couple years older than her, and so her mental break hit Amy hard.

"She had a minor mental break. Triggered by stress. And both are under considerable stress right now, so it was to be expected." She whispered.

"And Timmy?" Emma asked. "What he said about... about Aunt Emi?" Rachel glanced back at the room, the hurt in Tim eyes flashing before her. She turned back to the others, but she spoke to Ziva.

"If I were you, I would open an investigation into Emily McGee's death."

* * *

She pulled her keys from her bag as she came down the hall towards her apartment, humming a soft Hebrew lullaby, and stopped, a soft, relaxed sigh escaping her lips. Tim leaned against the door, a grocery bag in his hands. His eyes were red and he was a mess, but even so, he took a deep breath, giving her a small smile. She struggled to keep her composure, even though all she wanted to do was jump him there against the door. "You are early." He shrugged. "What do you have?" She asked, slipping her key into the lock and working it open; she craned her neck to see inside the bag. He pulled out a bag of marshmallows. She raised an eyebrow.

"Ever had s'mores?" She shook her head before shoving the door open and pulling him inside. As the door closed behind them, she dropped her things on the floor and pushed him against the door, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Slyly, she reached down, snatching the bag from him and pulling away.

"So... what is a... skor?" She asked, opening the bag to find not only marshmallows but several bars of chocolate and a box of graham crackers.

"A s'more." Tim corrected, following her towards the fireplace. They dropped pillows and blankets on the floor in front, and then took seats, but not before Ziva grabbed a bottle of wine and a wine glass. Once they had the fire going, they sat together on the floor; Ziva watched as Tim showed her how to make the perfect s'more, and she giggled like a child when she went to take a bite and the marshmallow ended up all over her fingers instead.

Tim watched, smiling genuinely for the first time in days, before leaning over and kissing her quickly. After they broke apart, Tim turned his attention to her fingers, gently sucking the melted marshmallow and chocolate off her fingers; she shivered as his tongue lightly brushed over her fingertips. They spent the next several hours roasting marshmallows and eating them, sharing wine and stealing kisses. By the time they stumbled back towards Ziva's bedroom, they had left a trail of clothing and wine that left no questions of what they were going to do.

As they tumbled onto the bed, Ziva drank in his taste- red wine, the sweetness of chocolate and the hint of smoke from the marshmallows. And yet, there was also that taste that was deliciously, uniquely Tim. She dug her nails into his back as they reached their climax, their screams mixing to create the perfect harmony.


	13. Chapter 13

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

Her eyes opened; she sat up, to find herself alone once more, like most of their nights ended. Only this time, when she turned to grab her phone and check the time, she found a small plate sitting on the nightstand, filled with s'mores, and a cup of steaming coffee. She sighed, knowing instantly what it was, but mentally refusing to accept his apology, and instead, accepting the coffee and treat as a thank you, a promise that she would again see him later on in the evening, when work didn't get in the way.

After putting the s'mores in a Tupperware carton and grabbing her coffee, she bolted out the door, hoping to get to the Navy Yard before- or even as- Tim did.

* * *

She pushed herself away from the wall as he entered the building. "Thank you for the coffee." He sighed, meeting her gaze; clearly, he wasn't up for talking today. Before he could respond, she made her way towards him and rested her hands on his waist, looking into his eyes. "You did not have to leave, though. I would have been happy if you stayed."

He met her gaze, sighing. "I... I didn't have any reason to stay." He whispered.

"You had me." She replied, meeting his gaze. He shifted his gaze from hers, towards the wall.

"Jethro had been alone all night-"

"Tim." She reached up, gently tugging his gaze back to hers. "You can stay next time." He studied her face for several minutes, before shaking his head.

"There isn't going to be a next time, Ziva. There should never have been a first time. I'm sorry." Then, without a word, he pulled away, heading towards the elevator. She groaned softly, rushing to catch up. Once the doors to the elevator closed behind them and started rising, Ziva flipped the switch, turning to him.

"Tim, look at me." He leaned back against the far wall, checking his phone. Nothing from Emma about Sarah's release yet. He sighed and put his phone away, running a hand through his hair. "Tim!" But when he met her gaze, Ziva saw the fear, the worry in his green eyes, and after a moment ,she dropped her gear and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I am sorry, I know you're worried about Sarah. I'm worried too."

"She's my baby sister, Ziva-" He choked out, burying his face in her hair.

"I know. I know she is. And I know how close you two are." She bit her lip. That closeness would only make the next part harder for her to reveal. She swallowed, pulling away to stare into his eyes. "Tim, we... Gibbs... Vance... Vance has... has asked Gibbs to... to open an investigation up."

"Into what?" He breathed, tears slipping down his cheeks. She gently brushed them away, taking a deep breath to gather her courage.

"Into... your mother's death. Dr... Dr. Cranston seemed to think that... what Sarah said yesterday... that it may have some truth to it." He pulled away, shaking his head.

"No."

"Tim, I'm sorry-"

But his only response was to take his anger out on the elevator wall. Ziva stood back and watched as he lost his temper, before slumping to the floor, and burying his face in his knees. She took a deep breath, slowly taking a seat beside him. "They can't. You _can't_ let them, Ziva." He choked on a sob, slowly lifting his head to meet her gaze.

"Can't let them do what, Tim?" She whispered, studying his face. He closed his eyes, sniffling.

"Open a case on my mother."

"Why not?" He shook his head. "Tim. Tim, talk to me." She reached out, taking his face in her hands. "Talk to me, Tim! Please! Why can't we open a case on your mother? If she was murdered-"

"_She wasn't murdered, Ziva! She was depressed! It was a suicide_!"

"You _don't know that_, Tim-"

"_Yes, we do!_ The medical examiner said it was-"

"But_ both_ you and Sarah said-"

"Sarah doesn't know what she's saying." He replied, pulling away from her and moving to get up. But Ziva wasn't willing to allow him to start the elevator again, and so did the only rational thing she could think of. She gently pushed his knees back and climbed into his lap, straddling him. Then, she took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Talk to me, Tim, _please_. You are my partner._ Talk to me_." He shook his head, turning away from her, and after a moment, Ziva rested her own forehead against his, closing her eyes. Maybe, if she gave him some of her strength-

He broke down, soft sobs beginning to cause his shoulders to shake, and she held him close, tangling a hand in his hair and pressing soft kisses to his forehead. He rested his head on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her, and she told herself that it was better that he broke down now as opposed to later. Besides, since they were in the elevator together, she could give comfort, when anytime later in the day wouldn't be possible. "Shh. Hush, love. Hush, my love." She continued to press soft kisses to his hair, breathing in the scent that often rested on her skin hours after their nights of making love.

She wasn't sure how long they sat together in the elevator, and she didn't particularly care. Her only concern was Tim. So when her phone rang, she ignored Gibbs's call, turning it off and stuffing it back in her pocket. When she looked up, Tim was studying her. "Sorry." He sniffled, reaching down and resting his hands on her hips to help her stand. "We should get... up to the bullpen before Gibbs skins us alive." But Ziva didn't move. "Ziva."

That seemed to snap her out of it, and after getting up and flipping the switch, she returned to him, climbing back into his lap and taking his face in her hands. "Tim," She swallowed. "We have to open up an investigation. You know we have no choice." He shook his head. She gently cradled his face in her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you have to go through this. So, so sorry." She rested her forehead to his, gently searching his eyes. "You will be okay, Tim. _We_ will be okay."


	14. Chapter 14

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

****Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 10 and 11; Crawcolady for reviewing 13; alix33 for reviewing 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9; Reader for reviewing 10, 11, 12 and 13. ****

Tony and Gibbs waited by the elevator, gear in hand, ready to go by the time the elevator opened. Just as Gibbs was about to step inside, he stopped, blinking. There was no way he could be seeing correctly. He blinked. Nope, he wasn't imagining it. Tony's mouth dropped, before he got that familiar look on his face that told the rest of the team he was going to make their lives a living hell.

Tim and Ziva were sitting in the elevator; Ziva was straddling his lap, her arms around his neck, and he had his tight around her waist. They were locked in an obviously passionate embrace, both completely unaware of the spectacle they were making. Tony made some sort of squeak, only to be choked on when Gibbs slapped him upside the head; neither noticed. After several minutes, Ziva slowly pulled away, resting her forehead to his. She took a deep breath. "We will be okay, Tim. I promise."

Gibbs cleared his throat, and the pair looked up. "Gibbs." Tim climbed to his feet, helping Ziva to hers, and he quickly grabbed his gear. "I... I'm so sorry, it... it was nothing... we were just..." But all the Team Leader did was grab hold of Tim's arm and yank him from the elevator, before grabbing Ziva and doing the same.

"Wait by the truck, DiNozzo."

"Are you sure, Boss? I... I mean... I could-"

"_The truck_!" Tony scampered into the elevator, watching as Tim and Ziva shifted their gear and followed Gibbs, before the elevator doors closed. Once Tony was gone, Gibbs turned to his two youngest. Tim ducked his head, and Ziva stood close, holding tight to his hand, her head lifted and her shoulders back. Silent, Gibbs hit the elevator button, and after the doors opened, he stepped inside, motioning for them to follow. Once again, Tim and Ziva found themselves stuck in the elevator, the lights out and compartment stopped.

"What the hell were you two thinking?"

"If this is about Rule Twelve, Gibbs-" Ziva started.

"Is it?" He asked, turning his blue eyes to her. She swallowed; Tim ducked his head, refusing to meet Gibbs's gaze. Instead, Tim studied the floor, struggling to keep the tears at bay. "I don't know, Ziver. You tell me. Is this about Rule Twelve?"

She swallowed. "I was just... just trying to comfort Tim, Gibbs."

"By kissing?" She nodded, glancing at her partner. Tim still refused to make eye contact. A moment passed, before Gibbs went to Ziva, leaning close. "Do _not_ let it interfere with work, are we clear?" She nodded. Once he was satisfied, he flipped the switch, sending the elevator back into motion. As they finally joined Tony at the truck, Gibbs turned to Ziva. "You and McGee take the car. I'll go with DiNozzo." She nodded, but then,

"Um, Gibbs, where are we going?" He glanced at Tony, before turning back to her.

"Alexandria. Twelve-seventeen Baker Street." Tim looked up, tears in his eyes.

"Is it a crime scene?" Gibbs shook his head.

"Don't know."

"Then why are we-"

"You'll see." He replied, climbing into the truck. Once they drove off, Ziva and Tim climbed into the car and followed. Silence settled between them, and as she drove, Ziva couldn't stop stealing glances at her partner. He was quiet, staring out the window, watching as the scenery passed by. She noticed the tears slowly slipping down his cheeks, and reached over, gently brushing them away.

"What's wrong, Tim? Talk to me, please." He sighed.

"Twelve-seventeen Baker Street is the house where my dad moved after Mom died. He moved us out to... to Virginia and... bought the house. Sarah and I... we spent the last years of our... we spent our last years there, before I went off to college at sixteen." She reached over, taking his hand and squeezing before returning to the wheel.

"Tim, I'm so sorry." He shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. Sarah and I... we need to go through everything, but we..." He sniffled, turning back to the window.

"You haven't had the time." He shook his head. The rest of the drive was quiet, and eventually, they pulled up in front of the house- it was a modest, two story home with a bay window in front. She turned off the car and turned to him, reaching over and gently brushing her fingers over his cheek. He jumped, pulling away from her. She sighed, watching as he quickly wiped the tears off his cheeks, that had only begun to flow harder when he laid eyes on the house. Then, without a word, he got out of the car, grabbing his gear and making his way towards the porch. After a moment, Ziva followed.

"So, why exactly are we doing here, Boss?"

"I think you mean why are we here, Tony." Ziva corrected, shifting her gear on her shoulder. Tony made a face.

"I knew what I meant, Miss Naturalized American Citizen." He griped, and she rolled her eyes.

"So why are we here, Gibbs?" She turned to the leader, who shrugged.

"Got a call from someone, saying they'd something they thought we'd be interested in, but-"

"'bout time you all got here." Everyone turned to see Emma step out onto the porch; her hair was pulled back in two pigtails, and she wore a pair of jean shorts and a tank. Tony whistled appreciatively, only to be smacked by Gibbs in annoyance. "We were starting to wonder." Amy joined her sister, in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, hair in a bun.

"You're Emma and-"

"Amy." Ziva finished for Tony, stepping forward. Emma nodded.

"Good to see you again, Ziva." She nodded to the rest, before her gaze shifted to her cousin. Tim had wandered away from the rest of the team, towards the old oak that sat in the far corner of the yard. Ziva's gaze followed Emma's, and she was surprised to find her partner perched on a tire swing. "Uncle John brought that swing all the way from California for Timmy and Sarah. They would play for hours on it when we were little. I guess... he brought it as a reminder. Of the happy times before Aunt Emi died." She whispered; Ziva turned to her.

"So where is this weapon you called us in for?" Gibbs barked, breaking the soft conversation. Emma turned to him.

"One moment, Agent Gibbs. Let me get it for you." And she disappeared back into the house. Minutes passed, before she returned with a black garbage bag wrapped around something. She set whatever she as holding on the hood of the car, and unfolded it. A white blanket- clearly bloodstained- was within the bag, and gently- they all noted that she was wearing latex gloves, probably so she could clean out the fireplace and chimney- and inside the blanket, was a plastic bag with a good-sized hole in it. She pushed the sides of the bag down, turning to them.

"This is your weapon? I don't see a weapon." Emma placed a hand on her hip.

"I never said anything about a weapon, Agent Gibbs." She then pulled a slip of paper out of her back pocket, handing it to Gibbs. "Got this, a few weeks before Uncle John died. Said he wanted to apologize for everything he'd done, how he'd treated my siblings and I, and... apologize for Aunt Emily, and how he'd hurt her. Said he'd never meant to cause this much harm."

Gibbs read the short letter, and quickly looked up at her. "What does this have to do with that?" He asked. Emma sighed.

"I'm a doctor, Agent Gibbs. My husband is an Aussie Fed. We've been trying for a while, and all I've gotten for my trouble is severe bleeding, a rejection from four agencies and three miscarriages."

"Where are you going with this, Dr.?" Gibbs growled, stepping closer; Emma backed up, holding up her hands.

"In my line of work, I've never seen anything this vicious and disgusting before." She glanced at the bundle and then back at her cousin, who hadn't moved from the swing; Amy was with him, talking softly. Sighing, she turned back to the other agents. "This is a body, Agent Gibbs."

"A body?" Tony asked, leaning forward. "I hate to break it to you, but that's not a body, bodies are bigger." Emma turned to him.

"I didn't_ say_ it was an _adult_, Agent DiNozzo." She turned back to Gibbs. "It's a fetus."


	15. Chapter 15

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

"Remember this, Timmy?" Amy giggled, tossing the blue striped pool ball at her cousin, who caught it. He studied it, nodding.

"I remember, Ames." He whispered, tossing it back, before looking around. The house was the same as it'd been when he'd left for MIT, just dustier and a complete mess.

"I know you and Sar are supposed to clean it out, but we figured... you know, since we're here... we could get a head start so there isn't so much for you and Sar to do."

"Thanks Amy. I... I really appreciate it. I know Sarah does too." The eighteen-year-old nodded, going to him.

"Is... is Sarah gonna be okay? Is she... going to get... out of the hospital or... something, soon?" He shrugged.

"I don't know. I... I met with the doctors yesterday and... she's sedated, because she won't sleep. Keeps... keeps crying for Mom..." Amy shut her eyes, turning away briefly.

"_Oh God_..."

"Amy?" The two looked up, to see Emma enter the house, the others following. "Agent Gibbs, wants us to show him where we... where _you_... found it. Can you do that?" Slowly, the teen nodded. She squeezed Tim's hand as she passed, leading them towards the fireplace. There was a gigantic hole in the wall beside it.

"We've had to... tear the walls apart. The wood's rotting underneath, and... they've started to sink in." She swallowed, glancing back at Tim, who gripped the camera around his neck tight. "Uncle John... he'd... hide things in the walls as a kid. Books, toys... anything he could think of. So we... we figured... maybe he did the same as an adult... we were right."

As Tony and Gibbs got statements and collected evidence, Ziva went to Tim. "Hey. You all right?" He met her gaze, and though he nodded, she could tell that his gaze wasn't seeing her, but what had been here before.

"I spent my... teenage years in this house... Sarah spent the rest of her childhood..." He looked around. "The kitchen's through there." He pointed to an entry way not far from where the fireplace was. "Three bedrooms upstairs. Dad's at the very back, Sarah's on the right, mine on the left. Bathroom beside Sarah's. Laundry room's... to the left of the main doorway." He nodded back towards the door, towards two accordion doors.

"I hate to say it, McNeatFreak, but your dad was a... mess." Tony said, joining his partners. Tim turned to him, sniffling, and handing the camera to Tony as he reached out for it.

"He was halfway between a packrat and a hoarder after Mom died." Tim whispered, looking around. "Couldn't throw anything away if it even remotely reminded him of her, kept all her jewelry in a deposit box in D.C., told Sarah he was going to give it to her the day she turned sixteen but... he couldn't bear to part with it." Tony opened his mouth, but a glare from Ziva sent his scurrying back to Gibbs. Once he was gone, she turned back to him.

"You shouldn't have come, Tim." He shook his head.

"No. It needs to be cleaned; I was going to have to come eventually. Better sooner than later, right?" He tried to give her a smile, and then moved away, asking Gibbs if he could head upstairs; there was something that had belonged to his father that he wanted. After receiving the okay, Tim bolted up the stairs, his feet leading him to his father's room at the end of the hall. Slowly, he pushed open the door, the familiar scent of the sea, of freshly-ironed cotton, and cinnamon filled his nose. He took a deep breath, slowly stepping into the room.

It had changed a lot since that day he'd come into the room the day he'd left for college. He'd stepped into the room, wanting to take his mother's St. Christopher medallion with him, but when he'd searched, he'd been unable to find it. To this day, it had never turned up. But that wasn't what he was searching for now. No, this was specifically linked to his broken family, his destroyed childhood, and the perfect image they'd projected for years. Slowly, starting at the dresser, he began to search, going through everything carefully, and yet, at each place, coming up empty. As he got to the nightstand, he stopped.

There, sitting in front of the lamp, was a photograph of the four of them, back before their mother died, and their father forgot about them. If Tim remembered right, it was around nineteen-eighty-five, the last Christmas Emily had with her family. She would be found dead the following March, six months after her son's birthday, and two days before Sarah's. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and picking up the photograph.

John and Emily were sitting on the back porch together; Emily wore a red and white felt hat, and John had a Christmas scarf around his neck. Sarah was sitting in his lap, dressed in a pretty red dress; they'd just come from the Christmas service at the church. He himself sat on Emily's lap, resting his head against her shoulder. She had her arms tight around him, and was pressing a kiss to his hair. Sarah curled into John's chest, and was playing with his scarf- he remembered it well; the one with the holly design. Christmas lights were wrapped around the posts of the back porch, and they could see the tree through the window.

_It was the last time you were truly, truly happy._

"Tim?" He looked up, to see Ziva in the doorway. "We're leaving. Gibbs wanted me to come get you." He nodded, glancing back at the photograph. "Is that your mother?" She asked, taking a seat beside him. He nodded.

"Yeah. Emily May Bowen. Dad called her EmiMay when they were alone." Ziva nodded.

"She was beautiful." He nodded again, sniffling.

"Yeah. She was."

* * *

Ziva sighed, her mind going back to that afternoon in the bedroom of John McGee's house. Tim was obviously heartbroken over his mother's death- even more so now that his father had died. And this... this now open investigation was probably only making it harder on him and the rest of the McGee kids; it seemed to affect Amy as much as Tim and Sarah. Emily was her aunt, after all, and from what Emma had told them, they were all closer to Emily than John.

She looked up at the knock. Setting the just-opened bottle down, she made her way to the door. It had been two hours, two hours since they'd gotten off work, since Tim had fled as soon as Gibbs gave the okay, and she'd been worried that he wouldn't stop by. She'd gotten used to their late night_ pas de duex_ and had been hurt when she'd gotten home to find him not waiting for her.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. He leaned against it,, and after a moment, he held out a plastic bag with a chilled to-go box in it. Silent, she took it, peeking inside. "I know you mentioned something today about wanting to go out for oysters." Her dark eyes met his and she smiled softly.

"You_ do know_ that they are _also_ an aphrodisiac, right, Timothy?" Before he could respond, she grabbed his hand, yanking him inside and shutting the door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**A/N: The line about the smell is taken from Cote herself, from the commentary she did with Sean on _Dead Man Walking_ on the Season Four DVD. **

She nudged her nose against his, grinning as she pulled away and searched his gaze. He searched her dark eyes before kissing her once and pulling away. As he followed her to the kitchen, she removed the bag and opened the box, a grin tugging at her lips.

Oysters, on ice.

He was getting to be just as good as her when it came to paying attention to the minute details. As she pulled out a bowl and added some ice, Tim went to the cupboard and got down two glasses. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, realizing that he acted as though he lived here all year round. When she returned to the oysters, she stopped, feeling an arm slide along her back and around her waist. He pulled her close briefly, squeezing her waist firmly once and brushing his lips against her hair. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she turned to meet his gaze, but he'd already let go and moved to pour the wine.

Once they'd fixed everything, Ziva grabbed his hand and tugged him into the living room. They settled on the sofa, enjoying the heat of the fire and the taste of the wine. She grinned as she watched him shake his head at the taste of the brine, and he actually laughed when the oyster she'd grabbed slid off her fork, back into the napkin she held. She blushed, even as her heart flipped at hearing that sound- she had missed that laugh.

As she took the last sip from her wine glass, she found him staring at her. "What? Do I have something on my face?" She reached up, but he shook his head, grabbing her hand.

"No. You just..." He didn't say anymore; instead, he leaned close, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. She didn't realize that he'd taken her glass and set it on the table, beside his and the empty plate; the rest of the oysters were in the fridge. Slowly, she slid her hands up his chest, wrapping around his neck. He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "Want another glass of wine?"

She nodded. "Yes." He pressed a soft kiss to her lips before getting up and grabbing their empty glasses. She watched him head for the kitchen, and after a moment, glanced towards her bookcase; the matryoshka doll sat, waiting for her to open it once more. A sigh escaped her throat as he returned and sat beside her, holding out her glass.

"Something wrong? I'm sorry for... I remembered... you'd talked about..." She turned to him, and accepted her glass.

"No, nothing's wrong, Tim." He sighed. "And you're forgiven for not being here when I got home. I can forgive you, oysters or no. You're going through a lot." He shook his head, sipping his wine.

"It's no problem. Besides, it... it's fine. It's not like I have to worry about being home before curfew, seeing as..." She watched as he seemed to pull back into himself, and she wanted desperately to stop him, to grab his soul and pull it back out, until he was back to smiling and laughing and acting as he had before this happened. She sipped her wine, watching as his green eyes moved restlessly back and forth, as though he were watching a tennis match, or a game of Polo.

"Tim?" He didn't respond, and she quickly set her glass down, reaching out and laying a hand on his thigh. "Tim!" She shook him gently, and that seemed to snap him out of whatever he'd been stuck in.

"What?" When his eyes met hers, she realized that he still wasn't seeing her; he was still lost in whatever memory had captured his attention. Without a word, she took his glass and set it on the table beside hers, and then climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She quickly searched his eyes, before kissing him. He slowly slid his hands around her waist, slipping underneath her shirt. She pressed herself against him, every cell of DNA sparking with delight at his response to her body.

At some point, she found herself laying on top of him, her legs hugging his thighs; they lay together on the sofa, lips locked in deep kisses, as Tim's hands worked beneath the fabric of her blouse, caressing the soft skin he now knew by heart. When they broke apart for air, Ziva sat up, quickly undoing the buttons of her blouse before removing it from her body and dropping it to the floor. She pulled her hair off her neck, studying his face, still seeing the fog of the memory he'd been trapped within, and again leaned down, capturing his lips in another deep kiss. One of Tim's hands moved up to tangle in her hair, while the other moved to caress her ass.

Somehow, someway, they'd ended up in Ziva's bed, leaving a trail of clothing leading from the living room. She groaned as he settled inside her, and held him close, wanting to just feel them together, the joining of one soul in two bodies. Tenderly, she pressed a kiss to his lips, reaching up and brushing her fingers through his hair. When they parted, he met her gaze before leaning down and working on her neck. Once more, they found that now familiar rhythm they'd established, screaming each others' names long into the night.

* * *

She burrowed further into the blankets; a tiny part of her expected to feel Tim pull her closer, but she knew that that was just wishful thinking. As she slowly opened her eyes and sat up, she realized that once more, she was alone, the blankets tucked around her like they always were. As she looked around, she found a small plate of oysters on the nightstand, along with a cup of coffee. Grabbing the cup, she took a sip and sat back among the pillows.

The bed still smelled like him...

As she slowly pushed the blankets aside, she stopped. Something was hanging off the end of the bed, forgotten. She quickly set the cup down and crawled towards the end of her bed, picking it up.

It was Tim's over shirt, the same one he'd worn when they were at the house in Alexandria, before he left work around ten that night. At first, Ziva had thought he'd gone home and changed, but was delighted that he hadn't. She loved that shirt, the beautiful heather grey fabric that brought out the emerald in his eyes. It was one he often wore, not knowing how much Ziva loved seeing him in it.

He must have forgotten it when he left.

Gingerly, she picked it up, running her thumbs over the material, before slowly, carefully, bringing the fabric to her nose. Instantly, his scent filled her senses, rushing through every nerve and coating every cell. It settled into her skin and nestled into the fiber of every bone, bringing with it memories of their nights together, of the glances they would share across the bullpen, and the subtle conversations they'd share in the truck or the car when Tony and Gibbs were with them.

She quickly got dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and tugging a black tank on over her bra, before pulling her hair back in ponytail and slipping into her shoes. She then grabbed her gun and badge, slipping her holster into the small of her back and sliding her badge onto her belt. As she left the room, she stopped, turning around and going back to the bed.

Her fingers tangled in the fabric as she picked it up and held the shirt to her nose, once more breathing in his scent. Her eyes closed, and she relaxed, as his scent once more enveloped her. _Guys have that... have such a wonderful smell about them._

Biting her lip to keep herself from giggling, she buried her face in the shirt, spending several minutes reveling in the memories of the night before, before her head snapped up. She quickly checked the time, and then rushed out of the bedroom, grabbing her gear. As she rushed down the front steps of her apartment building to her Cooper, she unlocked the car, tossed her gear into the backseat, and then looked down at the shirt in her grasp. Glancing around to make sure she wasn't being watched, she pulled the shirt on over her tank, and then buried her nose in the collar. With an excited giggle, she bounced on the balls of her feet before climbing into the driver's seat of her car and heading to work.


	17. Chapter 17

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

The elevator doors opened and Ziva strode out, wearing Tim's grey shirt buttoned over her tank. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and it was evident that the shirt was way too big for her, not that she cared. She set a cup of coffee on Tony's desk and then Tim's before returning to her desk when he wouldn't meet her gaze. Tony raised an eyebrow, a leer on his face as he realized the shirt was what Tim had worn the day before. "Well, well, well, look at what we have here? Looks like Ziva was spending the night with-" He stopped, whimpering as Gibbs smacked the back of his head with a wad of paper. "Thank you, Boss."

Ziva glanced at Tim, but he hadn't looked up. Instead, he was checking his phone. She glanced at Tony and Gibbs, nodding towards Tim. "Is everything okay?" Gibbs sighed, glancing at his younger agent.

"Been trying to get ahold of the hospital for the last hour or so for any word on Sarah."

"Will they release her?" She asked, coming over and setting his cup down on the table.

"Haven't said." He replied, turning his gaze back to Tim. The younger agent sighed, slamming the phone back into the cradle and sitting back in his chair. She glanced at Gibbs, who shrugged and turned back to his work- they'd opened an investigation into Emily McGee's death, and were now combing through every aspect of her life with a fine-toothed comb; Gibbs was working on getting as much information as he could on Tim's father. Taking a deep breath, Ziva went to the desk across from Gibbs's, and perched on the edge of his desk.

"Tim, you okay?" He slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers, and Ziva saw the tears swimming in his eyes. "Oh Tim." She reached out, but he pushed her away.

"I'll be fine, Ziva. Excuse me." He moved past her, and Ziva watched as he disappeared around the corner. Glancing back towards Gibbs, she got off the desk and followed, slipping into the bathroom behind him. She leaned against the door, watching as he leaned against the sink, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She sighed; it always amazed her that Tim was so adept at keeping his emotions under check in the bullpen at all. But then again, he'd had years practicing so he was good at it. She herself knew what it was like to hide behind walls. So of course she could recognize it. A moment passed, before she pushed herself away from the door and went to him.

"Tim. Talk to me." He took a shaky breath, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Please."

"I just... I understand that you're going on what Dr. Cranston has suggested from her sessions with Sarah, but... but it's my mother, Ziva..." He turned to her, leaning back against the sink. "_She's my mother_." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as he broke down. She was an idiot, she hadn't even considered how an investigation like this would affect him, or Sarah, or Emma or... or anyone else in the family.

"I'm sorry, Tim. So, so sorry."

The door soon opened, and Tony stuck his head in. "Hey." Both looked up, at him, and Tony swallowed, seeing the tears on Tim's cheeks, though he didn't ask, realizing it wasn't the right time or place. "When you two are done, Gibbs wants you down in the lab, Abby's got something." They nodded. Once Tony was gone, Ziva turned back to him.

"Will you be okay?" He nodded, taking a deep breath, resting his forehead to hers. She reached up, cradling his head in her hands and nudging her nose against his. Then, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, before whispering, "Come on."

* * *

"Get to the_ point_, Abby." Gibbs snapped; the Goth said something in forensic speak that Ziva didn't catch as they entered the lab.

"What did we miss?" Abby turned at the sound of Ziva's voice, her gaze moving down to their clasped hands. Slowly, the others followed, and Ziva found that Ducky was also there, still in his scrubs, having brought in more evidence for Abby to process while Palmer cataloged the injuries on the fetus. Her brow furrowed, confused. They'd spent time in the elevator on the way down to Abby's lab, talking softly; Ziva had pulled him into her arms, holding him close, letting him cry. How could she not have realized how much this would affect him?

"What?" The others stared at them, before Tim stepped forward, moving around the computers, letting go of Ziva's hand. His brow furrowed at he looked up at the plasma screen, confused.

"Positive match?" He turned to Abby. "What's a positive match? And to who?" The Goth bit her lip, glancing at Gibbs, who nodded. She turned to look at the others, before going to the computer.

"It's a positive match between the fetus your cousins found in the walls of your dad's house and some DNA." Tim stepped closer to Abby.

"Who's DNA? Abby?" She seemed to shrink under Tim's unnerving gaze, and twisted the serpent rings on her fingers. "Abby!" Her head snapped up. "Who's DNA?"

"... Yours. And.. and Sarah's." His green eyes widened in shock.

"You... you _tested_ our... our _DNA_?" Abby nodded. "Against_ what_? Or... or I guess who would be a better question!" He came around the computers, moving towards her.

"The... the fetus your cousins found." She whispered.

"What fetus?" He demanded. Abby swallowed.

"The.. the one that was... hidden... hidden in the walls of your... of your Dad's house. Remember Timmy?" He narrowed his gaze.

"No I don't remember!"

"It.. It was hidden-"

"There was _nothing hidden in our walls_! _Dad didn't hide things_! And certainly not... not... _not strange fetuses or dead animals_! He _wasn't like that_! He was... he was _normal..._ or... or at least..."

"It wasn't a strange fetus, Tim." Tony whispered. Tim turned to him as Abby brought up the results of the tests.

"Excuse me?"

"The fetus... that your cousins found... Ducky's determined... that it was... a little girl." Tim furrowed a brow.

"_What_?" He turned to Abby, and then turned back to the plasma. Abby moved to lay a hand on his back. He turned to her before turning back to the results on the screen.

"The... the body... the baby... buried in the wall... in Alexandria... it... it's your sister, Tim. Yours and Sarah's baby sister."


	18. Chapter 18

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

"Ziva, take McGee outside." She turned to him. "Take him out so he can get some air!" Quickly, Ziva rushed over to him, taking his arm, but he pulled away from her, turning back to the rest of the team.

"Come on, Tim. Tim, come on!" She tugged on his arm until she was able to get him out of the lab and into the elevator. Once they exited the building, Ziva took his hand, tugging him towards the small coffee kiosk across from the Navy Yard. She gently pushed him towards the stone benches in the square, and then dashed over to the cart, ordering two cups of coffee. While Ziva was occupied, Tim got up, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking around. He didn't want to be anywhere near the Navy Yard right then, and so, after checking that Ziva was still busy, he slipped away.

"Thanks." The vendor nodded, and Ziva turned, only to find herself alone. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she struggled not to lose it, before remembering that she had Mossad training. And part of that involved- as horrifying as it was- hunting. Or, to be more precise, tracking a suspect.

After several minutes, she found who she was looking for, near the River Walk. He was leaning against a stone rail, staring down at the water. Tears tracked silently down his cheeks, and he was shaking, despite the jacket he wore. She stopped beside him, holding out the second to-go cup, but he didn't reach for it.

"I had a.. another little sister, and... and... you... you never _bothered_ to... why didn't you tell me?" She met his green eyes, and gently, reached up to wipe the tears away, but he pulled back. A moment passed, before she sighed, and then reached over, wrapping his hands around the cup, hoping it would provide him with some warmth. She took a deep breath, staring down at her own cup.

"Gibbs asked us... to keep it quiet... until the results came back." Ziva whispered; Tim turned to her.

"You knew? The entire time?" She nodded.

"Emma... she made the call, but she didn't want you to see it, because... because you've been through enough already. She was trying to protect you." She met his gaze. "We were all trying to protect you." He choked on his coffee. She moved closer, slipping her arm through his and squeezing gently. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

"We'll be outside if you need us, Agent McGee." Tim nodded, thanking the nurse with a soft smile as the door shut behind him. He and Ziva had returned to the Navy Yard an hour and a half after leaving, of which Gibbs had told him he would be on cold cases while the others worked the case, of which he was- honestly- happy with. He didn't want to even think of his mother's death being labeled under a case when the coroner had informed them that it had been a suicide all those years ago. He'd be perfectly happy working on cold cases. And then Gibbs had told him to go home. After several minutes, he grabbed his gear and left.

He came straight to Bethesda.

Now, he sat beside Sarah's bed- she was doing better, though still having nightmares; they had moved her from the solitary confinement area of the ward out to the normal living areas of the ward, though she was still in her own room. Gently, Tim reached out, taking her hand; she stirred, turning her head. Her green eyes slowly opened, and she smiled softly. "Timmy."

"Hey, Sar." He whispered, squeezing her hand. She slowly lifted her head and then tried to sit up, though the relaxants she'd been given to calm her down made her sluggish, and he helped her sit back against the pillows. "How're you feeling?" She sighed.

"I want to go home, Tim." He squeezed her hand, giving her a soft smile.

"I want you home. But you can't go home until Dr. Cranston clears you. Remember?" She nodded, thinking.

"Timmy?" He met her gaze.

"Yeah?"

"We have to clean out Daddy's house." He bit his lip, thinking, before,

"Emma, Amy and Jake have already started. They're just... getting rid of the garbage and the furniture that they know we won't want. They're leaving the rest for us. They're just cleaning up the yard and the carpets and moving the big furniture- the things Dad kept in the garage. Emma promised that we can go through everything else, they just got a head start so we wouldn't be overwhelmed." Sarah nodded in acceptance, swallowing.

"Did you find..." He shook his head.

"No. Not yet. Knowing Dad, he probably hid it so I'll never find it."

"Can't find Mama's jewelry either." Sarah muttered, reaching up and gently brushing her fingers over his cheek.

"It's in a safety deposit box. I think it's in a bank in D.C., somewhere, but I'm not sure. He put Mom's jewelry in it after she died." He swallowed. "Maybe the medallion is with it."

They talked for several minutes; Sarah seemed lucid and relaxed, she was even joking and giggling. Neither heard the door open or close. But soon Sarah's gaze was brought from her brother, and Tim turned; Ziva stood back by the door, watching the siblings. "Ziva." She gave the teenager a small smile.

"Hey, Sarah. How are you doing?"

"Better." Ziva nodded, as she nervously joined them, stopping at the foot of the bed.

"Good. Um... Gibbs asked me to come... check on you, see how you were doing. Told me to... make sure you were okay. Said he... figured that Tim would be here also." She glanced at her partner, who sighed.

"We're okay, Agent David. Thank you." Ziva started, but nodded, giving the siblings a small smile before slipping out of the room. Once the door closed behind her, she sank to the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

Sarah looked better, and she wasn't as... _Meh'sho'ga_ as she'd been before. And she seemed... alert, if not exhausted. But still, alert, which was better than how she'd been before. She played with the chain of her necklace, before hearing the door open. Her head snapped up fifteen minutes later, and after a moment, she choked out,

"She okay?"

Tim stood staring down at her, green eyes studying her intently. It made her uneasy. She quickly climbed to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest, burying her fingers in the extra fabric of the shirt. If he recognized it as his, he said nothing. If he wanted it back, like she was expecting, he kept quiet. All he did was study her, noticing how she looked in that shirt, with her hair pulled back in that low ponytail. He chuckled softly, shaking his head at her before,

"She's asleep." Then, he turned and headed towards the receptionist's desk. A moment passed, before Ziva followed, asking,

"Did you tell her?" Tim stopped not far from the desk, turning to her. The confusion, the pain, the raw wear he'd been through in the last few days, weeks, reflected in his eyes, tugging at her heart and making her want to run to him and kiss him and tell him everything would be okay. That they would get through it together. But she stayed put.

"Tell her what, Ziva?" She bit her lip.

"About the investigation?" He shook his head. "Why not? She needs to know-"

_"She doesn't need to know! Okay? This has been hard enough on both of us! Sarah doesn't need to know! In fact, she's safer not knowing! Now just leave my sister alone!"_ He snapped. Then, without another word, he signed out and left.

* * *

Ziva glanced at the door, taking a sip of her wine. She checked the time on her phone and sighed. It had been two hours since she'd gotten off work, and Tim hadn't arrived yet. Most likely, he was still angry at her. They hadn't parted on good terms that afternoon; she'd caught up with Tim out in the hospital parking lot, and the two had gotten into a heated argument about the now-open case surrounding his mother's death. Unfortunately, she'd only made everything worse. Tim had lost his temper, kicked the tire of his car, told her to stay away from him and his sister, and left.

She understood, she really did, but still, it hurt.

Sighing, she set her glass down and went to her bookcase- the matryoshaka doll sat waiting for her to resume her search. A moment passed, before she picked up the doll and set it on the coffee table before going back into the kitchen and grabbing her wine glass. Taking another sip of her wine, she set the glass down and studied the doll. It was the same as it had been weeks ago when she'd nicked it from Tim's desk. Nicholas watched her, imploring her to open him and reveal Alexandra, and then Olga, Tatiana...

She sighed, laying back among the cushions, her gaze going to the fire. After a moment, she turned away, curling up on the sofa and burying her nose in the collar of his shirt. She'd considered giving it back today, but after their argument, she was gonna keep it. Not that he'd miss it, but it would make her feel better. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes, imagining his arms wrapping tight around her, holding her to him as they slept, or as they stood in the living room, sharing kiss after heated kiss.

_"I was trying to protect you."_ Her words came back to her, and the sight of the anger in his green eyes, as he'd backed away and told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted nothing to do with her or anyone else at NCIS for the rest of the week. She'd watched him drive off, tears clouding her vision.

Slowly, she sat up, studying the doll. Sighing, she reached out, picking it up and twisting it gently, revealing Alexandra within. Once she'd removed Alexandra and put Nicholas back together, she turned to the empress. She watched Ziva with an expression that told her that she was madly in love with the man she had married, and that the weight of the secret of her son's disease was weighing on her mind heavily. She wore a beautiful tiara, festooned with the weight of diamonds and pearls, and Ziva could only imagine the throbbing pain such a headpiece brought to her neck. After a moment, she twisted Alexandra, opening her up to reveal Olga Nikolaevna, the oldest of the Grand Duchesses and the Imperial Children. But something stopped her from taking Olga out and putting Alexandra back together again.

So instead, she returned Alexandra's head to her body, before placing her back into Nicholas. Only instead of setting the dolls back on the shelf, she took them into her bedroom, setting them on the nightstand. She changed into her pajamas in silence, and just as she was about to toss the shirt into the hamper, she stopped. If she washed it, it would lose its smell, and right now, that was the last thing she wanted to forget. Clutching the shirt to her chest, she climbed into bed and turned off the light, snuggling down among the pillows and blankets and burying her nose in the fabric.

He always looked beautiful in the shirt, but none so much as he had the night before, when he'd shown up at her door with those oysters, whispering an apology for being late, and saying that he remembered she'd wanted to go out for seafood sometime that week, but couldn't get anyone else to go with her. The mere fact that he'd remembered had touched her deeply, and even though she'd been joking, as she'd pulled him into her apartment, a tiny part of her mind had screamed that it was more than just sexual attraction that was causing these nightly encounters.


	20. Chapter 20

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 14, 16 and 19; alix33 for reviewing 14, 15 and 17; Reader for reviewing 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 and 19.**

He parked the car and then rested his head on the steering wheel. Minutes passed, before he forced himself to get out of the car and make his way through the rows and rows of soldiers, airmen, sailors and snipers now resting peacefully on this sacred ground. He finally stopped in front of the stone, hands in his pockets as he stared at the name.

_John McGee_

_Admiral_

_U.S. Navy_

He couldn't bear to read anymore. A thousand thoughts swirled within his head, thoughts he couldn't get to stay still long enough to consider. After a moment, he turned away, struggling to get his thoughts and emotions in order, and then, strode from the cemetery. As he drove off, he didn't know where he was headed, and he didn't particularly care.

Ziva's was out of the question; he wasn't particularly happy with her, or anyone else on the team at the moment. And he refused to worry Sarah when she was finally recovering from her breakdown. Emma and Jake, maybe... no, he loved his cousins, but he wasn't up for any contact of the family kind right then.

* * *

He took a deep breath, swirling the melting ice in his glass. The smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of Jazz pounded through his head, but he didn't particularly care. The bar on fifteenth, in the outer recesses, the area between where Silver Spring and Georgetown met, was one he usually came to after a difficult case. Tim was good friends with Ebony, the cute bartender with the tight weave. He downed the last of his drink, and set the glass on the counter. "Another one, Eb,_ le do thoil. _Gracias."

Ebony chuckled, as she came over to him, her dark curls bouncing. "You're mixing your languages, Tim." She said, pouring him another glass. He wrinkled his nose.

"And my liquors._ Toda_." She grinned.

"_De nada_." As she wiped down a portion of the bar that had become sticky from tequila, she watched her favorite patron.

"Have you ever been told something that you never knew?" Ebony stopped, thinking.

"Sure. I learn lots of things I never knew."

"No, I mean... like a secret that you didn't know existed. And then suddenly, out of the blue, it exists." She stopped wiping the bar and considered the question, screwing up her mouth.

"No, I don't think I have. Why? You did?" He nodded, sipping his drink. "What was the secret?"

"Mmhm... it's complicated, but the basic premises is that my younger sister and I have a baby sister that we never knew about."

"Well, that's a nice surprise. What does she do?"

"Nothing. She's dead." Ebony reached out, laying a hand on his arm.

"Oh, Tim. I'm sorry." He shrugged, waving it away.

"Doesn't matter. Neither Sarah or I got to know her. She died when she was a baby; up until a few days ago, we didn't even know she existed." Silence settled between the two, and after a moment, she turned, quickly fixing a cup of coffee with a splash of Irish whiskey- something she knew would get Tim to relax and stop stewing. As she set it in front of him, he said,

"And then Ziva, my coworker- I've told you about her, right?"

She grabbed a spoon and poured the cream over it, watching as it settle on the top of the mixture. "Hmm.. the exotic Israeli with the impulse issues and the unusual attachment to her knives?"

"That's the one."

"What about her?" She asked, putting the cream away and then adding a dash of cinnamon to the top. Tim finished his glass, which Ebony immediately grabbed, sticking in the sink behind her before sliding the mug towards him. "Drink it; the coffee will help your head and the Irish will relax you."

"I've been sleeping with her for the last several weeks; ever since my father died. It doesn't make any sense; I shouldn't be. She's my _coworker_, one of my best friends. And yet..."

"And maybe something more?" Tim met her gaze as he took a sip of his coffee.

"No. Ziva's just... Ziva. She's fiery and wild and spontaneous and..."

"The type of woman you've been looking for your entire life?" He glared at her over the rim of his mug. "Come on, Tim, I've known you how many years? You've helped me out of how many binds with my ex? And you've watched over Shanda when you haven't needed to or haven't had the time when I've had to work late or was taking night classes. Tim, you've done so much for me. Can't you just accept for once that maybe this time you need to do something for yourself and not for other people? Maybe she's... maybe she's your soul mate."

Tim snorted, rolling his eyes. "Right. Like soul mates exist, Ebony."

"Shanda's mine."

"She's your daughter, Eb."

"She's still my soul mate."

"She's six." Ebony raised an eyebrow.

"And you have a _dog_. You need a woman in your life, Tim. Maybe this Ziva is the one."

"If I needed a woman in my life, Ebony, I'd have a better shot with you and Shanda than Ziva." She tossed the rag under the counter and placed her hands on her hips.

"Tim do you like her? I mean... other than the whole sex aspect, I get that. My main question is, do you like her?"

"She's a good friend."

"I didn't ask if she was a_ good friend_, I asked if you like her." He shrugged.

"I don't know, maybe." Ebony nodded.

"Can you see yourself with her?" Tim laughed.

"Oh God, no. Ziva is more interested in Tony than me. She likes the tall, dark, handsome type."

"Tony... the movie-loving, narcissistic, loudmouth who hits on any female fresh out of high school?" Tim nodded.

"That's the one." The bartender narrowed her eyes, screwing her mouth up.

"But she's sleeping with _you_." She pointed out.

"Look, Eb, we're Friends With Benefits, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, Ziva would never look at me that way. I'm more a brother than a romantic partner. That's Tony." She shook her head, before reaching over and twisting his ear. "Hey!" She pulled away, leaning against the counter until they were face to face.

"You know what your problem is, Tim? You don't give yourself enough credit. In anything. Maybe if you started giving yourself enough credit, you'd see that she's not interested in Tony. Maybe you would finally see that she's interested in _you_."


	21. Chapter 21

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

The next two days passed in quiet calm; Tim worked cold cases while Gibbs and the rest of the team tracked leads on the McGee case. Tim avoided Ziva's gaze, and Ziva didn't say a word to him. Their game of 'Silent treatment' was getting to Gibbs, who was tired of seeing the longing glances Ziva would shoot McGee's way and Tim's blatant refusals to acknowledge her. So it was the evening of the second day when Gibbs ordered the team home early. As they all left, he relished the quiet, knowing that come the next morning, it wouldn't last.

* * *

Ziva curled up on the bed, wrapped in Tim's shirt; she had yet to wash it, for fear of losing his scent, and since he currently wasn't talking to her and wasn't coming over, she couldn't risk it. Seeing him at work was physically painful, and knowing that he wouldn't talk to her- or anyone else on the team, for that matter- made her heart ache all the more. She buried her face in the sleeve, letting his scent envelope her, and after a moment, looked up, studying the doll sitting on her nightstand. Nicholas watched her, a sadness in his eyes that reflected her own. She sighed, hearing something coming from the front of the apartment.

After a moment, she climbed out of bed, tossing the strands that had come loose from her low ponytail out of her eyes. For a moment, she considered getting dressed in case it was one of her neighbors, but decided against it. She didn't feel like putting anything else on, and so made her way into the living room of her apartment in just Tim's shirt and her underwear. She took a deep breath, unlocking and pulling open the door, not ready to face anyone at that moment, and only wanting to wallow in her own self-pity.

Tim stood in the doorway, hands behind his back.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, leaning against the doorframe, her body blocking the partially open entrance. A part of her was relieved that he'd come, and yet... there was that small part of her that wanted to tell him to go to hell and sob herself to sleep. But she didn't. He sighed, pulling whatever he had out from behind his back. She watched as he pulled out a bottle of wine. A moment passed, before she took it.

Chardonnay.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she held the bottle to her chest. "Thank you." He nodded, and she couldn't resist leaning close to see what else he had in the bag. Satisfied, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and allowed him to come inside. As she shut the door behind them, he went to the kitchen, and Ziva watched as he pulled the cakes out of the bag- one a Boston Cream, the other a Sachertorte, a dish native to Austria, but that had traveled to Israel with Austrian Jews after the Holocaust.

She joined him, setting the bottle on the counter and grabbing two wine glasses. As she set them on the counter and uncorked the wine, she asked,

"How did you know?" He glanced at her. "That I like_ Sachertorte_?" He shrugged as he removed the cakes from their containers and set them on plates.

"I listen." She stopped, glancing at him, but he didn't look up. Once she'd finished filling the glasses, she put the rest of the wine in the fridge and then sidled up beside him. Unable to resist, she reached out to steal a taste, when he slapped her hand away. She turned to him, eyes wide in shock. "Don't look at me like that. You get your own piece." And he set a plate with a slice of each on it in front of her.

"Aren't you going to try it?" He shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

"I've never had Saka-"

"_Sachertorte_." He nodded, meeting her gaze for the first time since entering her apartment. She gave him a soft smile, glancing at the fork he held out, but instead, she reached out and tore off a piece of the chocolate cake, taking a bite. His green eyes sparked as her lips gently enveloped her fingers, and before he could stop himself, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. When they slowly broke the kiss, she looked up at him, taking a deep breath. Gently, she reached up, trailing her fingers along his bottom lip. He caught her hand, kissing the frosting off her fingers, his green eyes meeting hers. Her heart skipped a beat as his tongue gently trailed over the sensitive skin of her fingertips. When he pulled away, he gave her a soft smile. She returned it, and tore off another piece, holding it out to him. He pulled back, unsure. She just nodded, and bit her lip to keep the moan from escaping her throat as he gently sucked on her fingers. "Well?"

"Pretty good. But there's something else I like better."

"Boston Cream?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head.

"No. You." He pulled her closer, capturing her mouth with his. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, drinking him in, before slowly pulling away to ask,

"What should we do with the cake? And the wine?" He glanced at it, before turning back to her.

"I have a pretty good idea." She soon found herself on the sofa, lost within his kiss, his touch. After a moment, he pulled away to slowly unbutton the shirt she wore. One hand ran up the length of her thigh, caressing the firm muscle as he pulled her close. Minutes passed, with only the sound of kisses breaking and skin touching, before he reached over for the slice of Boston Cream. Instead of the cake though, he came back with fingers dipped in whipped cream, and after a moment, he swiped a finger across the tip of her nose. She pulled away.

"Hey!" He chuckled, licking the cream off her nose. But she pulled away, swiping some of the cream from his fingers and over his own nose. A giggle escaped her throat as she leaned over and did the same to him, before accepting the bite of cake he held out to her. A moment passed, as they locked gazes. He raised an eyebrow, and she accepted the bite, sucking gently on his fingers. When she pulled away, she took his face in her hands, studying his features, before kissing him deeply. "I was lonely without you." He nudged his nose against hers, sighing.

"I know. I shouldn't have lost my temper, I just..." He closed his eyes, and she kissed him softly.

"I know, Tim. I know." They shared deep kisses, hands roaming and caressing, familiarizing once more with the nooks and crannies they knew so well, even after days apart. She gently cradled his chin, guiding him down to her throat. He sucked gently on her skin, nipping occasionally, before moving down to repeat the process on her collarbones. After several minutes, she pulled away, looking up at him. "How is it fair that you're still dressed?" Without a word, he removed the shirt he wore, and reached for his belt, but she grabbed his wrist. "No. Let me."

By the time they were both completely undressed and joined together, both slices of cake had been used in ways most people wouldn't dream of. As Tim kissed the glaze from the strawberry topping off her fingers, she let a tiny part of her pray that there were no more hard feelings between them. She couldn't bear another night like the last.


	22. Chapter 22

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

She sighed, finding herself once more on the sofa when she awoke. As she sat up, she found a slice of each cake and a cup of coffee waiting for her on the coffee table. A soft sigh escaped her throat, and she got up. As she snatched the grey shirt up from under the table and buried her nose in it, she couldn't help but wonder if the night before had been a dream.

The welcome throbbing in her body told her otherwise.

* * *

Her gaze instantly went to Tim when she stepped out of the elevator and made her way into the bullpen that day. Tim met her gaze but only briefly. The calm in the bullpen was soon interrupted by the ringing of a phone call, and one simple sentence. "You ship that body here to D.C. so my ME can do the autopsy."

Everyone looked up; Ziva's gaze went immediately to Tim, who looked up from his cold cases. "Um... what body and where is it coming from, Boss?" Tony asked, sitting up. Ziva never took her gaze off Tim. The Team Leader glanced at his other two and then turned to Tim. Silently, he got up.

"McGee, my office, now." After sharing a glance with his partners, Tim followed, and as the doors closed and the emergency brake flipped on, he felt a hard ball of dread bounce and settle within his stomach. Gibbs turned to him, studying the younger man. Gently, he reached out, placing a hand on Tim's cheek. "I requested, and Vance approved- the exhumation."

Tim studied him. "What exhumation?"

Gibbs took a deep breath. Next to losing his own family, this had to be the hardest thing he'd ever gone through. "The exhumation of your mother, Emily McGee."

But instead of the shock he was expecting, Tim shot out of his touch so fast, he stumbled back against the elevator wall and banged his head against the metal. The _thwack!_ that reverberated throughout the box made Gibbs's heart stall momentarily, and he watched as Tim clutched his head. At first, the older agent thought it was because of the contact, but then he realized it was because he was trying to comprehend what he'd just learned. And Gibbs, he wasn't prepared for the explosion that followed upon understanding.

"How..._ how the Hell could you do that? What the fuck is wrong with you, Gibbs? Have you lost your fucking mind?" _

In another other elevator, at any other time, Gibbs might have smacked him for the response, but instead, he just stood, letting his younger agent rant, knowing that he needed this. "Tim, this is a murder investigation-"

_"No! No, it's not! It's a... a twisted, sick joke! You open a murder investigation when there isn't one to be opened, you... you tell me that she had another child that was buried in a wall... and now... now you exhume my mother's body... for no reason!"_

"There_ is_ a reason, Tim. Both you and Sarah have said that you think your father killed-"

_"He didn't kill her! She committed suicide, Gibbs! She was depressed! She'd just lost her older sister and niece in a car accident! But unlike you, she actually had the guts to go through with it!" _

_"Hey!"_ Gibbs could tolerate ranting and raving, wild accusations and threats, but when it came to the deaths of his wife and daughter... that was crossing a line. He pushed Tim against the wall, standing until they were nose to nose. "That's_ enough_, Tim, you_ hear_ me?" He shook the younger agent, trying to get his point across, but McGee just shook his head, tears coming to his eyes.

_"How could you do this?"_ He choked out, meeting Gibbs' blue stare. _"What gives you the right? A... fancy badge... a... a special title? What gives you the right to open our closet?_ _What gives you the right to pry?"_

"What skeletons, Tim?" Gibbs studied the younger man, seeing the pain in his green eyes. When he shook him this time, it was gentler, calmer, filled with the realization that his youngest 'son' had obviously witnessed something growing up- something he'd buried deep within his subconscious; something either too traumatizing or too shameful or too haunting to remember. This time when he spoke, his voice was softer. "Talk to me, Tim. What skeletons?" The younger agent shook his head, trying to push him away even as Gibbs reached up and gripped his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Tim, look at me. _Talk_ to me. What skeletons? Did something happen? Huh? Did something happen to your mom when she died?"

But Tim shook his head, pushing him away. _"Can't you just leave us alone?"_ Gibbs sighed and flipped the switch. The doors opened just as Emma rushed into the bullpen.

"Where's Timmy? They've released Sarah from the hospital and-" She stopped hearing the doors slide open, and turned to see Gibbs step out, Tim behind him. The younger agent was in tears, and was shaking violently. Both Ziva and Tony were on their feet in minutes; Ziva rushing towards her lover, but Emma pushed past her, throwing her arms around her cousin when she reached him. "Timmy? Timmy, talk to me. _Look at me_. What happened?" But he shook his head, burying his face in her shoulder. Emma turned immediately to Gibbs, eyes sparking with protective anger. "What did you do to my cousin?"

"Nothing. Just told him that we've exhumed his mother's body, and we're bringing her here for autopsy." Emma's mouth dropped in horror.

"What?"

"We have reason, thanks to you, to believe that John McGee murdered his wife." Gibbs replied.

"How could you do that? How could you_ possibly_-_ are you out of your mind? Uncle John loved Aunt Emily!_ Yes, they had their rough patches, but still! He would never- _never_\- kill her! _He loved her more than life itself!_ And now you have to go and... and_ pry_ into their private lives..._ haven't you done enough damage? Haven't you hurt my family enough?_ And now you have to pull this crap? What is_ wrong _with you people?"

"We're just trying to figure out the truth, Emma-"

"The truth? Well the _truth_, Agent Gibbs, is that my uncle never- _never,_ in a million_ years_\- would he lay a hand my aunt. He loved her. With his whole heart and soul. And nothing..._ nothing_ you find or _assume_ about him is going to change that."


	23. Chapter 23

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

"Another one, Eb." Ebony shook her head.

"I think you're good tonight, Tim." He raised an eyebrow. Vance had heard the commotion, and had come down to break up the argument, only to be met with a five-foot-six Australian beauty with a teenage career in modeling, leading her cousin out of the bullpen. After relaying the situation, Vance had let them go, figuring it was better to have Tim out of the building with the state he was in. He'd told the young agent to go home and get some rest, spend some time with his sister, that his work and his desk would be there in the morning.

"After the day I've had, I highly doubt it." He replied as Ebony snatched up the glass and put it in the sink, before working on the coffee.

"Couldn't have been that bad, Tim. You've had to have had worse." He studied her, the neon lights hanging from the ceiling casting a garish red glow on her soft, chocolate skin.

"No, this is pretty much the worse day I think I've ever had." He muttered, eyes never leaving the red that seemed to tinge her skin.

"Even worse than your car accident at sixteen?" He nodded, and she whistled. "You're kidding. Worse than that?"

"NCIS has... exhumed my mom's body... they're ship... shipping her here to D.C., so... so that Ducky can do the autopsy."

"Ducky... the Scotsman with glasses?" Tim nodded, silent. "And why are they exhuming her?"

"They think my dad murdered her." He whispered. Ebony nodded, adding the whiskey to his glass.

"I see. Wait, shipping her from _where_?" It was then that he met her gaze, and Ebony saw the tears in his eyes.

"Alameda. She died out there. Buried her in the cemetery, then dad moved us back here, to Alexandria. He's buried in Arlington."

"So, let me get this straight." She leaned against the counter, the coffee momentarily forgotten. "Your mom died in Alameda, as in Alameda, California, Alameda, and you buried her out there, moved to D.C., with your dad and now that he's dead and buried in Arlington, NCIS has decided to exhume your mom's body and do an autopsy because they think your dad murdered her." Tim nodded.

"Pretty much."

"And where does your deceased baby sister fit into this?"

"I don't know." He whispered, folding his arms on the table. "My cousins have started cleaning out the house, and they found... _it..._ wrapped in a garbage bag in the wall. NCIS thinks my dad put it there after we moved."

"_Ew._ I'm sorry, but-" He shook his head.

"No, it's okay." She nodded, finishing the drink and setting it in front of him. He thanked her but didn't pick it up. Instead, he just stared at it, watching the cream settle on top, the cinnamon slowly sinking through to the bottom of the glass. After a moment, she turned.

"Hey, Lexi! I'm gonna take ten." The other bartender nodded, and Ebony slipped out from behind the counter with a bottle of beer. She went to Tim, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Come on." He glanced at her. "Come on, we can talk in the back." After a moment, he got up and followed, coffee in hand. They settled at a table in the far corner, away from the garish lights and closer to the window. "Now talk to me." He stayed silent. "Tim, I'm taking psychology courses, eventually, I'll have enough to graduate and get a degree. Come on, I'm training for this! Now talk."

"What do you want me to pay you?" He asked dryly. She chuckled softly.

"Ah, you know, a little tumble here, a little whirl there." He relaxed, rolling his eyes, and she smiled. "I'm kidding. I know you've got that Ziva chick taking up the space in your bed. Just... promise me you won't drive home drunk, so that you can be there for Shanda's high school graduation- or her court hearing, whichever comes first- and we'll call it even." He sighed, chuckling softly. They settled into silence for several minutes, before she asked,

"Do you think he did it? Killed your mom?" Tim sniffled.

"I..." He stopped, thinking. "He's_ my dad_, Ebony. Sure he was a_ bastard_, an _abusive son of a bitch_, but he was still my dad. He taught me how to ride a bike and... how to read and..." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "He's _my dad_."

She reached out, taking his hand and squeezing gently. "Tim, I've known you for years. Hell, we were roommates at MIT, at... least until I dropped out. I know you. I know Sarah. I love you and Sarah. You're the closest thing I have to family, besides Shanda. You can tell me anything, you know that." He took a deep breath.

"NCIS... they have no right... to... to exhume her and... ship her here. No right." He lowered his head, struggling to gain control of his emotions.

"They have every right, Tim. It's a federal investigation. You know that better than anyone."

"But _she's my mom_, Eb. She's... she's my mom." She squeezed his hand, reaching up with her free hand to grasp his chin.

"And she is so proud of you, of _both_ you and Sarah, Tim. She is _so proud_ of the man you've become. I know it. And you know it too." After a moment, she got up, moving around the table to perch on the edge. "Look at me, Tim. I know this investigation hurts, but wouldn't it be better knowing what really happened than never knowing at all?"

"I_ know what happened_!" He snapped, and she took his face in her hands.

"I know. I know you do. And I know, that whatever really happened, is buried so deep, that it's going to take a lot of digging to bring it to the surface. And it's gonna be painful. But you can get through it. You're strong enough. I know you are. And _you_ know you are. You just need to face it one shoveful at a time. 'kay?" A moment passed, before he slowly nodded. She smiled softly at him. "Good." As she brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, she whispered, "You'll be okay, Tim. Both you and Sarah... you'll both be okay."

Then, she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips, just as Ziva stepped into the bar.


	24. Chapter 24

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 23; alix33 for reviewing 20, 21, 22 and 23; Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 20, 21 and 23; and Reader for reviewing 20, 21, 22 and 23. **

She had to be seeing wrong. But as she moved closer, she realized that it was indeed Tim, locked in a kiss with another woman. She struggled to keep her composure, to keep from storming over to the woman and ripping her tongue out, like she so desperately wanted to. Instead, she turned and left, tears coming to her gaze, at the image of Tim- her sweet, sensitive Timothy- locked in an embrace with another woman. She didn't stay long enough to see Ebony pull away and get up, telling him that he needed to let Ziva in- truly let her in.

She fumbled for the keys when she reached her car, and it took several minutes for her to start the engine before she was able to drive home, thanks to her hands trembling so badly. As she stumbled into her apartment and slammed the door, her glance moved around the room. She slowly made her way back to the bedroom, eyes locking on the matryoshka doll on the nightstand. And in a fit of jealous, heartbroken anger, she threw it.

The doll hit the floor, rolling for several feet before coming to a standstill in the hallway. She struggled to catch her breath as she sank to the bed, her fingers finding his shirt. She buried her face in the material, but the scent she loved so brought back that image in the bar, searing it into her brain, and she balled up the clothing, taking it into the bathroom and dropping it into the sink before turning on the faucet and letting the water run over it.

Maybe soaking wet would cause the scent to disappear.

Once done, she left the shirt in the sink and returned to the bedroom, climbing into the bed and burrowing into the blankets, even though the last thing she wanted to do was sleep. Instead, she pulled back the sleeves on her arms, revealing the love bites on her skin- deep, purple bruises left on every inch of her arms, neck, chest and shoulders from the night before. From what she'd understood, they were a symbol of possession, of belonging to someone else.

Maybe for other people.

For her, they were just a reminder of what she'd lost.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she choked on a sob, eventually crying herself to sleep.

* * *

A knock awoke her hours later.

She sat up, checking the time on the phone, and after several minutes of struggling to remember what happened, she climbed out of bed, stumbling towards the door. She wasn't at all happy to see him. "What do you want?" She growled, tears choking her voice.

"We need to talk." She sniffled.

"About what?" He sighed, struggling to think of where to start, and after a moment, he reached out to lay a hand against her cheek, to pull her close and kiss her softly, but she pushed him away. As he studied her, he saw the obvious pain in her eyes. "About your kiss in the bar?"

"You saw that?" He sighed, and she nodded quickly.

"How could I not?" She asked, biting her lip, even as she choked on her tears. "I was looking for you, and... then I see you with another woman's tongue down your throat. How am I supposed to trust you now?"

"Ziva, you don't know _anything_ about Ebony or Shanda-"

"Ebony,_ that's_ her name? And who's Shanda? Another one? How many women are you sleeping with, besides me?"

"_Just_ you." He replied, reaching over and laying a hand on the door so she couldn't slam it like she wanted to. "Now, please, can we talk?" A moment passed, before she pushed the door open and allowed him to step inside. As she shut the door softly behind him, she asked,

"Coffee?"

"No thanks." He watched as she shuffled past him, headed towards the kitchen.

"Fine." Without a word, she started making a fresh pot, hands shaking, despite the calm she tried so hard to project. He sighed, going to and gently laying a hand atop hers. She glanced down at it, before pulling away. "I'm not a child."

"Just trying to help." He moved away, looking around. "Ebony would love an apartment like this. She's lucky her parents are letting her and Shanda live with them, just until she saves up enough to get her own place. I've offered to help, but she's stubborn."

_"Why take your money when she can take your body."_ Ziva muttered, never removing her gaze from the coffeemaker. Tim turned to her.

"What is your problem?" She didn't look up, just rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Besides the fact that you tongued a prostitute?" Tim scoffed gently, shaking his head.

"Ebony is not a prostitute. She's a bartender."

"Well, _pardon me for not knowing the difference_." She growled, turning to him. He narrowed his eyes, but stayed silent. Then, without a word, he wandered into the living room, gaze going to the bookcase. A smile tugged at his lips and he pulled the first _Harry Potter_ novel from the shelf. It was obviously a much-read and deeply loved copy.

"Shanda's never read the _Harry Potter_ novels. I got her the first one for her birthday last month, but... she doesn't fully understand why Harry lives in the closet. We got as far as the second chapter before we had to stop; it gave her nightmares." He chuckled. "Dragons and monsters under the bed I can understand giving a six-year-old nightmares, but living in a closet?"

"Six?" He turned as Ziva joined him, setting an extra mug on the mantel for him. He nodded.

"Yes. Six. Shanda is Ebony's only child." Ziva swallowed her coffee, trying hard not to let the lump in her throat cause it to return to her mouth. It suddenly hit her. She was sleeping with a man who obviously had a wife and child. God, how could she be so stupid?

"She's your daughter. God, Tim why didn't you tell me?" His head snapped up, shock in his green eyes.

"Now where the hell did you get that idea?" She shrugged, tears in her eyes.

"You have some sort of relationship with her- not just her, but her mother..." She set her cup down on the mantel, turning to him. _"God, Tim, you were kissing her tonight! What other conclusion am I supposed to come to?"_ But what surprised her the most was the fact that he was _laughing_. "_What is so funny_?"

"Shanda's not my daughter, Ziva." He struggled to regain his composure, but the very thought... ludicrous was the only word he could think of. "She's my _god_daughter."

"What?" She watched him, as he held onto the mantel. Clearly, her agitated state did nothing to strike fear in him, but did everything to strike humor. Minutes passed, before he finally met her gaze.

"Shanda's my _goddaughter_, not my _daughter_! Ebony's just a friend from college! There's nothing going on between us, never has been! Sure, there was an attraction, but it never went anywhere. Ebony's more like a sister to me."

"So... so let me get this straight..." She whispered, moving closer. "... you... you_ aren't_... involved with her?" Tim shook his head.

"No. Not like I am with you." He replied, reaching out and gently taking her hand. Her heart flipped as he squeezed her fingers before releasing her hand. "Ebony's just a good friend. Got into a few rough patches a couple years ago, became involved with a bastard who tried to kill her. Shanda's the result of a rape, but Ebony wouldn't trade her for all the tea in China. We've kept in contact over the years, and I've helped her out, when I can. Nothing more, nothing less." He then reached out, gently slipping his hands onto her hips and gently tugging her close. She resisted at first, before allowing him to pull her close. "There is _nothing_ going on between Ebony and I." He searched her gaze. "When have I ever lied to you?"

She bit her lip, Gibbs's words coming back to her from that long ago day, after Tim had killed the metro cop._ McGee doesn't know how to lie._

Her gaze moved up, meeting his, and after seconds, she found what she was looking for. The truth. He was telling her the truth.

A moment passed, before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

She sighed; a part of her screamed that she'd imagined the night before, but when she lifted her head, she found a cup of coffee sitting on the nightstand for her. Her body ached, and as she sat up, she let her mind wander to the conversation the night before.

His goddaughter. Tim had a goddaughter, and the woman he was kissing was an old college buddy. A sister.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed out of bed and picked up the coffee, taking a sip. As she started about her day, she stopped. Slowly, she knelt down, picking up the nesting dolls. A quick check told her that the others were all okay, but Nicholas-

He had a good-sized chip on the back of his head and the base from when she'd thrown him the night before. After a moment, she took the dolls back into her bedroom and set it gently only the nightstand, tucked back behind the lamp, so it was safe. Then, she wandered into the bathroom, confusion lighting her eyes at the shirt in the sink.

Oh, right.

She wrung it out in silence, before bringing it to her nose, but it had soaked all night and any scent of him was gone. After a moment, she hung it over the side of the bath to let it dry, and then finished getting ready before leaving for work.

* * *

Tim looked up in time to see Ziva enter the bullpen. She gave him a small smile, dropping her gear at her desk and taking a seat. Minutes passed in silence, before Gibbs entered the bullpen and looked around. "Where's DiNozzo?" Tim and Ziva shared a glance before shrugging. The older man growled in annoyance, before motioning to Ziva. "Come on, Ziver. Ducky's down in the evidence garage, and we need to be there to receive the shipment." Tim stiffened, and Ziva turned to him. Gibbs glanced between his two, before going to Tim's desk. "You stay here, McGee. Are we clear?" Tim nodded, silent. With a glanced back at Tim, Ziva followed.

After the body was signed for and taken to autopsy, Ziva made her way down to see Ducky, but she wasn't prepared to see the woman now laying on the autopsy table. She took a deep breath, silently slipping into the room. "Ah, Ziva, what brings you down to Autopsy today?" Ducky asked, as he looked up from his external study of the woman's skin. She shrugged.

"Wanted to... see her. Meet her."

"Oh, well, you're welcome to come meet her, Ziva. I'm sure Mrs. McGee would be thrilled to have visitors. Especially someone so close to her children." She gave the medical examiner a quick smile, before,

"What about Tim?" Ducky sighed.

"Gibbs would rather not have young Timothy come down to autopsy until we're certain of anything. He's worried it might... scar the boy more than he already is, to see his mother in such a state." Ziva nodded. "I shall leave you two alone." He set his instruments down and removed his gloves. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She gave him a small nod, and he disappeared to work on the beverage.

Once he was gone, Ziva stepped up to the table, dark gaze moving over the woman's face. For being in the earth since the late eighties, she was remarkably well preserved. Her hair was dark and curly, like Sarah's, and her nose was exactly like Tim's. She could just imagine Tim kissing those lips as a little boy, the softness he would feel. She was small, closer to Sarah's height; Tim obviously got his height from his father. A moment passed, before she pulled on a pair of gloves and gently picked up one of Emily's hands, half expecting the woman's eyes to snap open and for her to sit up. Gently, she picked up the woman's hand, studying the fingers; there was a strip of skin around her ring finger, obviously her wedding ring had once resided there. Despite her decades in the earth, her skin was still soft and smooth, untouched by today's pollutants. A part of the Israeli longed to lift her eyelids.

Which would she possess? Brown or green?

But just as she reached to do so, Ducky came back into autopsy with his tea tray and two cups. He set it on a nearby table, and after a moment, Ziva removed her gloves and joined him, casting a glance back at the woman on the table. "Thank you, Ducky."

"So, have you become well acquainted with our Timothy's mother?" Ziva sighed.

"She looks so young."

"She is. From what I can gather, she was... only about twenty-nine when she died. Meaning she would have had Timothy when she was... well, twenty-two or so. And Sarah would have come along a couple years later, in eighty-one, if my calculations are correct."

"So Tim would have been seven, and Sarah five when she..." She glanced back at the corpse. Something didn't fit. "But... what about the fetus Emma and Amy found? How does she fit into this?" Ducky set his cup down after taking a sip.

"That is where it gets tricky, Ziva my dear." Ducky replied, getting off his stool and going to the body. He pulled on another pair of gloves, tugging the cloth up the woman's stomach. Gently, he parted the woman's legs, bringing the magnifying glass close. "Do you see these darkening marks around the lips of her labia?" Ziva leaned close; it took a moment, but eventually the glass focused and she nodded.

"Dirt, perhaps, from the burial?"

"That is what I thought too, until, I found this." Using a probe, Ducky gently parted one of the dark markings on Emily's skin.

"It's a... a cut?" She asked, looking up at him. He nodded.

"Yes. Looks to be caused by a pair of scissors, where I to make a guess. Someone cut her, most likely as she was giving birth."

"But... but that doesn't make sense. The... the other body..." She turned towards the autopsy coolers. "It can't be that far along. Granted, I know nothing about childbirth or pregnancy, and I do not want to know, but, even I know that is not a full-term fetus-"

"You are correct, my tiger lily." Ducky told her, going to the autopsy cooler and opening a door. He then pulled out the tray the fetus was on, waiting for her to join him. "You see, this child is about... twenty-four, maybe twenty-five weeks along."

"So... she would pregnant," Ziva started, turning back to the table that held Emily's body. Ducky nodded. "And... something happened to cause the baby to come early..." She turned back to the fetus. "and she was forced to give birth."

"Not something, Ziva." Ducky replied, pushing the table back in and shutting the door of the cooler. He then returned to the table and Emily. "Someone." He reached over, tilting Emily's head back, and pointed to what appeared to be a good and deep burn on her neck, beneath the base of her throat. "Her hyoid was broken, and there was a clean break to her spine, as though someone had grabbed her by the throat and twisted her head all the way around, like unscrewing a cap from a soda bottle. You see these marks here?" He pointed to the bruising that went further down her throat, towards her chest.

"They look like... fingers." Ducky nodded, a gleam in his eye that indicated that she was on the same path he was.

"Exactly. Most likely, our poor Mrs. McGee was taken by surprise. There is evidence of DNA under her fingernails that I have sent up to Abby for analysis."

"So she fought back. Or she tried to."

"Yes. And unfortunately, whoever it was overpowered her." Ziva glanced at Emily, putting the pieces together in her head.

"So... she miscarries, resulting in a stillborn birth, and then is... and then has her neck snapped?"

"I believe so, Ziva." He turned back to the body on the table. "It appears that Timothy's mother was murdered."


	26. Chapter 26

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

"I wasn't sure I'd see you back here." Tim looked up, meeting Ebony's gaze. He sighed; after what he'd been told today at work, all he wanted was to drown in booze and never go back to the Navy Yard. "Not after last night. Lexi told me she saw that girl of yours leave the bar. Must have caught us." Tim nodded, silent. He took a seat at the bar, and crossed his arms. "So you two make up, or she not speaking to you?"

"We made up."

"Then what's the problem?" She set a glass down on the counter in front of him and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. She stopped pouring, setting the bottle on the bar and leaning against the hardwood. "_Uh-oh_. I know that look. It was the same look you got when you had to take the flacseed test to become an agent."

"FLETC." Tim corrected gently. Ebony nodded, topped off his drink and put the bottle away before setting the glass in front of him.

"Right. What happened?" He glanced at her before grabbing the glass and tossing back the shot. "Tim. Drowning your troubles in alcohol isn't going to do anything but make you sick and unable to drive. And I'd take you home to sleep it off, but you know how my parents feel about alcohol- only special occasions. Besides, you know I'd never let Shanda see her god daddy like this._ What happened_?" He sighed, glancing at the bottom of the glass before setting it back down.

"Hit me again and I'll tell you." She pulled the glass towards her and filled it, but held it up out of reach.

"Talk first and then I'll give to you."

"Eb, come on." She raised an eyebrow.

"Start talkin', Tim." She brought the glass to her lips, but he reached for it. She held it further out of reach. "Start talkin' and you can have it." He sighed, sitting back and rubbing his forehead.

"Ducky found signs of cervical fracture on my mom's body." Ebony set the drink in front of him, and then grabbed a bottle of beer, removing the cap and taking a sip. She watched him down the shot, and then reached over, taking the glass and dropping it in the sink. When she returned to him, she set a tumbler with ice and whiskey in front of him. "And skin cells under her fingernails."

"So she fought back." He nodded.

"And... what appears to be... cut marks on the lips of her genitalia." He choked on a breath; clearly that was what upset him the most- that someone could do something that heinous to his mother.

"Oh, God." Ebony put her beer down, pushing it to the side at the thought of such a thing. She had never met Emily McGee- the older woman had died long before Ebony had come into the picture- but she had met John, and she hadn't been too impressed with him. Actually, in all honesty, she'd been downright scared of him. But she loved Tim and Sarah, and so had taken their father's quirks with a grain of salt. Even when she would spend breaks at the McGee house with Tim in Alexandria, she couldn't wait to get back to the dorm, and counted down the days until they could go back to school. "Tim, I'm so-"

"Doesn't matter." He whispered, lifting his drink. "Gibbs was right." He took a sip, and Ebony sighed.

"Tim, look at me." She wasn't going to have him block her out like he was prone to do; they'd been through too much together for her to let him wallow in his own heartache. _"Tim! Look at me_." He slowly raised his eyes to hers, and she saw the tears glistening within the green depths. "You are my_ best friend_. The only man besides my father that I truly trust." She bit her lip. "And I am not going to let you_ sit here_ and_ drink yourself_ into a _coma_, that will _solve nothing_."

"What do you expect me to do, Ebony?" He asked, raising the glass to his lips and taking another sip. "Arrest my father? He's dead and buried now, just like my mom was; until they dug he up and brought her to D.C." He finished the glass. _"Bastards can't leave well enough alone."_ He set the glass gently back on the table, swallowing. _"Uno mas, s'il vous plait."_

"You're mixing your_ languages_ again, Tim."

"And my liquors." He replied, pushing the glass towards her. "One more." She shook her head.

"No, you've had enough. I'll get that coffee ready." She took the glass, setting it in the sink and set to work on the Irish coffee she knew would knock some sense into him. "As for your dad, honestly, I'm glad he's dead. Something wasn't right about him." Tim shrugged.

"Pick one." She raised an eyebrow. "He was a secret racist, an egotistical narcissist, a compulsive, pathological liar, an alcoholic, a drug-abuser; there's more, but that's just what I can think of off the top of my head. So go ahead, pick one."

Ebony nodded, taking a deep breath. "No wonder you never kept in contact." He shrugged. "So, explain something to me. And, I know you've told me this before, but... years have gone by and I've forgotten." She added the coffee and then set the pot down, leaning against the counter and catching his eye. "How did you end up at MIT at fifteen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know how _I_ ended up there at fifteen. How did you?" He sighed, licking his lips.

"Graduated early. By that time, though, I just... I wanted out of the house. Dad was never home, he was always away on tour, or patrol or whatever they call it in the Navy, and... Sarah and I raised ourselves. So I worked my ass off all through the summer, completed four years of high school in two and graduated valedictorian. Showed up at MIT the first week in August on a full-ride scholarship and never looked back. Got to my dorm that first day and... met a... wiry-haired, pierced and tattooed African American chick who loved Eddie Vedder and worshipped Nirvana and The Gits, and spent more time playing _Fade to Black_ than doing her _homework_."

Ebony blushed, a beautiful pink tinge coming to her cheeks. "Okay, okay, I get it. Not that I was all that impressed with you when I realized we were sharing a dorm." He raised an eyebrow. "Oh don't give me that look. You know very well what I mean- you with your... computer programs and Billie Holliday Jazz-"

"Billie Holiday's R and B."

"Whatever." She grabbed a spoon and poured the cream. "And your comic books and that stupid typewriter. I honestly couldn't stand you when we first met."

"Well you were no picnic either, with your late night partying and obnoxious parade of guys coming and going constantly from our dorm-"

"Hey, at least I went out instead of spending all my time in the library, like some people I know." She replied, adding a dash of cinnamon. "If I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought you were still a virgin when we met." Tim rolled his eyes as she pushed the mug towards him.

"I was not."

"Oh really? Who was your first? And where?" Tim shook his head.

"You first. Who was yours?"

"I asked you first."

"And I'm asking back. Who was your first, Tim and where?" He sighed.

"Her name was Tali Davidson, and we were thirteen. Met in Portland, when my sister and I went up to stay with Penny for a few days one summer; lost in the back of her dad's mustang during a drive-in movie- _My Cousin Vinny_, I think. Maybe_ Poison Ivy_... I don't remember the movie much." He brought the mug to his lips, thinking. "Come to think of it, she looked a lot like Ziva." Ebony nodded, watching him.

"Must just be your type." Ebony joked.

"Now you." She sighed, grabbing her beer and taking a sip.

"Phoenix, over summer break. My stepdad. I was ten." Tim sighed.

"God, Eb, I'm-" She waved it away.

"Doesn't matter now, Tim. It's in the past; the bastard's behind bars and... I've moved on." She stopped as he laid a hand over hers.

"Just because we both come from fucked up families doesn't mean we have to go through it alone. You can always come to me." She sighed, squeezing his hand.

"I know." Then, she leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "It'll get better, Tim. I know it hurts, this with your mom, but it'll all be over soon." He nodded.

"I hope you're right, Eb."

"I _know_ I'm right."


	27. Chapter 27

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

Ziva set her glass of wine down, stretching as she made her way to the door. She'd come home, taken a shower and then pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She had since dried Tim's shirt out and it was laying folded on the top of her dresser, waiting to be used. His scent was gone, and she mentally kicked herself for being so stupid.

When she reached the front of the apartment, she glanced through the peephole and then unlocked the door, her heart skipping a beat as she tugged it open, to see Tim leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. A smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned against the other side of the doorframe, not quite mirroring his posture. "I was beginning to wonder-"

But he cut her off, his mouth finding hers. As they slammed the door to her apartment and made their way to her bedroom, it was blaringly evident that he didn't want to talk. So she agreed.

They didn't talk.

* * *

She came into work that following morning nursing the coffee Tim had left her, eager to find out how he was feeling today. But when she entered the bullpen, she found herself alone. Tony had yet to arrive, as always, and Gibbs was most likely skulking about somewhere, probably scaring the hell out of the cybercrimes shadows. And Tim...

His things were here, but he himself was nowhere to be found.

She set her gear down by her desk, and headed downstairs, to see if he was with Abby. He wasn't. After a moment, her feet led her to Autopsy, and she stepped between the sliding doors to find Tim sitting beside one of the coolers. It was open, and the tray the body lay on was out. Above it, and to the right, the top door was open and the tray out. "Tim?" He didn't look up. "Tim? You... you aren't supposed to be down here. Gibbs doesn't want-"

"Twenty-nine."

"What?"

"She was twenty-nine when she died. Same age I was when I published_ Rock Hollow_ and _The Rose Assassin_." Ziva nodded; she knew both books well, had copies on her bookshelf. "I was seven and Sarah, five... we never even got to say goodbye, or tell her how much we loved her."

"Tim-"

"She was... making these... family tree quilts, for Sarah and I, so we could trace our roots. She... put them away and told me once that... that her medallion was the key to finding them. Find her medallion, and we'd find the quilts."

"Medallion?" He nodded.

"St. Christopher, Patron Saint of Travelers. Because Dad was in the Navy and we moved around a lot. She said... that she put it in a... a book of some sort, so that I'd be able to find it when I was ready, but... after she died... Dad either donated or threw out her books. I never found the medallion." Ziva sank to the floor, taking a seat beside him. A moment passed before she took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I've spent my entire life looking. At this point, I guess I'll never find it." He turned back to his mother's body.

"Gibbs doesn't want you in here, Tim. Not until we're sure of anything." Her voice was soft, firm, but he just sighed, meeting her gaze.

"I know, I just... realizing she was here, knowing that... that I can see her again... that I can... that maybe I can finally tell her goodbye..." He swallowed, closing his eyes. "Maybe I can get... "

"Closure." She whispered. He nodded. "Tim, did you ever consider that maybe finding out what really happened to your mom would bring more closure?"

He met her gaze. "I know what happened, Ziva. She committed suicide. She'd just lost my Aunt Kelly and cousin Diane in a car accident. She was depressed, took a handful of pills and overdosed." Ziva, seeing the tears in his green eyes, shook her head.

"No, Tim. I know that's what you want to believe, but Gibbs had reason to believe that your father murdered your mom." He shook his head.

"No... nope, that's_ not_ what happened." She sighed.

"Tim-"

"No, I _saw her_, Ziva. She was laying on the bed and she wasn't moving. My dad was trying to do CPR. He was trying to_ save_ her, not kill her, Ziva, he was trying to _save her_. I_ remember_." She studied him. How could she argue that the evidence said otherwise, when he was so set in his ways, so _convinced_ that what he'd seen as a child had been the truth? How could she possibly explain- what could she do or say that would convince him that the evidence they'd unburied was the true? That all the evidence was pointing to a murder, not a suicide, committed by his father?

"Remember what, McGee?" The pair turned, to see Gibbs standing in front of them, ice blue eyes smoking.

"It's not Ziva's fault, Gibbs."

"I told you that I didn't want you down here-"

"I came down here on my own." Tim said, as Ziva climbed to her feet, trying to explain. Tim didn't move. "How could you forbid me from seeing her, Gibbs? She's my _mother._ _She's my mother_ and... I never got to tell her goodbye." He turned from the older man, turning back towards his mother's lifeless body. Ziva meanwhile made her way towards Gibbs, taking his arm.

"He's convinced that his father was trying to perform CPR on Emily to save her. He doesn't believe the evidence we've gathered. I've tried telling him otherwise, but he won't listen." Gibbs glanced back at his youngest 'son.' "What do I do, Gibbs? What do I tell him?" He sighed, watching as Tim gently pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek and then pushed the tray back in before closing the door.

"Just keep doing what you're doing, Ziver. Just keep doing what you're doing."


	28. Chapter 28

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

"What do you got for me, Abbs?" The Goth turned in her chair, tears in her eyes. Tony and Ziva followed Gibbs into the lab the following morning; Tim was still working on cold cases, and after checking on him, Ziva had followed Tony downstairs, where Gibbs was waiting for them. She accepted the drink with a dejected look, setting it on the desk beside her, before returning to her screen.

"What is that, Abby?" Ziva asked, moving around the computers towards the plasma to get a better look.

"It's the results of my DNA match." Abby replied, quietly. Tony looked around, a disturbed look on his face.

"Something's wrong in here." The others ignored him. "Something's really wrong. But I can't-" He stopped, suddenly turning back to Abby. "No music! You're not listening to your... grunge... stuff." Abby only glanced at him.

"I didn't have the heart to turn it on, since this was the first thing that popped up as soon as I turned my computer on this morning." She replied. Tony and Gibbs gathered around Abby, while Ziva furrowed her brow at the plasma in front of her.

"I don't get it, Abby. What is it?" Tony asked. Abby sighed.

"It's the DNA match to the skin cells found under Emily McGee's fingernails." She whispered. "The DNA is a direct match to... to..." She choked.

"Boss, Emma wanted to know if-" The others turned as Tim stepped into the lab, Emma behind him. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"What's this?" Emma glanced at her cousin and then turned back to Gibbs, moving around Tim and stepping into the lab. After a moment, Tim followed. "Ninety-nine point nine percent match to what?" She turned to the Team Leader. "What's a match?" Gibbs glanced at Abby.

"Our forensic, Abby, has found a match to the skin cells underneath your aunt's fingernails, Emma."

"Skin cells?" Tim shrugged, silent. The others nodded, before Abby choked out,

"The DNA Ducky found is a match to..." She stopped, turning to Tim. _"I'm so sorry, Timmy."_ She moved to hug him, but Tony's hand on her shoulder stopped her. Tim stared at her, just as confused as Emma. A moment passed, before Abby pulled up the records on the plasma screen, the DNA results between the two records. "The DNA under your mom's... fingernails is... it's a match to... to your dad, Timmy."

* * *

"Timmy, you don't have to do this now-" He shrugged. Emma sighed. "Give me the broom. Amy and Jake and I can handle the big stuff. You can get the rest once the investigation's over." Gibbs had sent Tim home after the discovery that it was his father that Emily had been fighting against, and as soon as they left, Tim had asked Emma if they could stop by the house in Alexandria. Now, she took the broom from her cousin. "Look, if you want something to do, go upstairs and sort through the drawers. You know better than we do what can be donated and what can't_. Go_." Emma gently pushed her cousin towards the stairs, and after a moment, he did as told.

Once in the room, he started in the drawers near the door, going through the clothing and putting it into piles. It was methodical, boring work, but Tim didn't care. He'd take anything that would get his mind off what Gibbs had told him today.

That the DNA under his mother's fingernails was his dad's.

That, if anything, was heartbreaking. And only confirmed what he'd long buried.

He continued looking through the clothing, until he had two good-sized piles of clothing on the floor in the hallway- one to donate, the other to toss. Once done with the drawers, he started on the closet, telling himself that the sooner they finished, the sooner he could forget and never remember. As he reached up, pulling down the boxes on the top shelf, something fell, dropping in a heap on the floor. He sighed, kneeling down to pick it up.

A footlocker.

Not a very big one; it looked like an old steamer chest- similar to the ones used in forties during the second war- with black hinges and locks. And there were stickers on it, hundreds of stickers, from places it had obviously been. The Philippines, France, China, Austria...

He took a seat on the floor.

This was familiar, very familiar. Like he'd seen it before-

_"Grandpa, play Navy Travel!"_

A small smile tugged at his lips as he realized what it was.

His grandfather's footlocker.

James Bowen, Emily's father, who'd been a Sergeant in the Army during the second war. The man had returned at the end of the war, to find his wife having left him for greener pastures. Scarred and alone- he'd been shot during one of the last battles of the war and lost an eye, as well as a cheekbone and an ear for it- he'd soon met Cassandra Riley, an Irish beauty fresh from New York, determined to make her way in Hollywood. They'd started dating, and had gotten married in forty-eight; Caitlin had been born in fifty-two, with Emily following in fifty-seven. Her father had been awarded the Purple Heart and Silver Star, and Emily and Caitlin had grown up hearing stories of the war, just as Tim and his sister had. He chuckled.

_"I wasn't with the Navy, Timmy, boy, I was with the Army! The Navy are nothing but a bunch of sitting ducks! It's the Army that does all the work!"_

Visits to San Francisco, where his grandparents had retired too, were special. Though most kids and people were scared of him, Sarah and Tim loved their grandfather; beneath the monster-like appearance, beat the heart of a loving, gentle giant, who adored his children and grandchildren. And when he died in eighty-eight...

Tim shook his head, blinking the tears away. A moment passed, before he slowly opened the footlocker, lifting the lid. The hinges creaked, groaning in protest until the lid was completely back. It was filled with... stuff. Old manuals and jars filled with rusty nails, a holster for an old gun and an old Army cap, and books. Lots, and lots of books.

He stopped, gaze going back. He slowly picked up the first book, flipping through the pages, being careful of the worn binding.

Nothing.

He continued looking through each book, coming up empty. Finally, out of mental exhaustion, he closed the locker and picked it up, heading back downstairs. "Em, I'm gonna go." His cousins turned to him.

"Okay. See you tomorrow?" He nodded, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "We'll go out for dinner. You can bring Ziva too." He furrowed a brow at her as he pressed a kiss to Amy's cheek.

"Why would I bring Ziva?" The three shared a glance, unsure of how to react.


	29. Chapter 29

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena **

Ebony looked up as she slipped behind the bar to see Tim sitting at the counter. "You're here early. You usually don't come in for another couple hours or so. What's up?" He shrugged. "Tim? Hey!" He looked up, meeting her gaze.

"What?" She raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, Eb." A moment passed, before she leaned on the counter.

"What's goin' on?" He met her gaze. "Come on, Tim, I've known you since college. I_ know_ you. I know what bugs you and I know what you like. Something's goin' on. Spill." He sighed, pulling up an image on his phone and setting it in front of her. She studied it. "What is it? A box?"

"An Army footlocker from World War Two. I found it in my dad's closet today when my cousins and I were cleaning out the house. When I opened it up... there were Army caps and books and a gun holster and..."

"What are you gonna do with it?" She asked, handing him his phone back and straightening. She fixed a drink, setting it in front of him. He shrugged.

"I don't know. Keep it, I guess. It was my grandfather's."

"Paternal or-"

"Maternal." He whispered. "Mom's dad. Her side of the family was Army, my dad's was Navy. So I've got military branches on both sides." Ebony whistled.

"No wonder you didn't want to join the military." He chuckled.

"NCIS is as close as I get." He sipped his whiskey, propping an elbow on the counter. "NCIS has figured that my dad pretty much murdered my mom." An empty bottle dropped, shattering on the floor, and Ebony turned.

"What? How the hell did they come up with that conclusion?" Tim shrugged.

"Found DNA under Mom's fingernails. Matched it to Dad." He swallowed. "Personally, I think they contaminated the DNA. Or if not, they switched the tests."

"Tim." She shook her head. "These are your coworkers. Would they deliberately contaminate DNA or change tests?" He thought a moment.

"FBI does it all the time, which is why we end up with half their cases." She chuckled softly; over the years, Ebony had heard various stories about the ongoing war between the FBI and NCIS, and she, from the outside view, found it funny. Not that Tim would ever know. A moment passed, before she asked,

"So how are things with you and the Israeli chick?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Ziva?"

"You know any other Israeli chick?" He wrinkled his nose.

"It's going okay. It's still this whole... Friends With Benefits thing... I show up at her apartment, we have sex, I slip out in the morning and see her at work later in the day. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Did you ever think there might be more to it than just casual sex?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Such as?" He asked, sipping his drink. Ebony shrugged.

"I don't know. Love?" He sat up, coughing on his drink. She quickly took the glass from him and set it down, before moving around the counter and rubbing his back. "Breathe, Tim." When he was able to get a shaky breath in, he turned to her. "You okay?"

"Are you..._ insane_?" She stared at him.

"About what?"

"I-"

"Here, Tim." Ebony nodded towards Lexi as she set a glass of water in front of him and returned to her work.

"About that last comment." She stared at him, expression blank.

"That you love her?" He sipped his water, taking deep breaths to calm his heart.

"I don't love Ziva. She's a friend, _that's all_." Ebony raised an eyebrow and then moved back behind the counter.

"If you say so. It just sounds a lot to me like you're in love with her." He glared at her, setting the cup down and throwing down a twenty as he got up.

"Ebony, you're my best friend, the mother of my goddaughter." He grabbed his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. "And I say this with _all_ the_ love_ I can possibly muster, and know that I say this from the heart. Go to Hell."

She rolled her eyes and slipped the twenty into the pocket of her apron with a chuckle._ "I love you too, Tim!"_ He turned back as he slipped out the door.

_"Bite me!"_

* * *

She couldn't get the pain in his eyes out of her head. Finding out that your mother's death was a murder investigation had to be hard, but to find out that your father had possibly killed your mother-

Ziva could only_ imagine_ the pain Tim was going through.

Her head snapped up as a knock sounded at the door, and after a moment, she got up, pulling the door open. He stood in front of her, holding what appeared to be a small chest of some sort in his arms. "What is this?"

"I'll show you." He replied, slipping into the room and setting the container on the floor in front of the fireplace. Ziva shut the door softly behind her, and then wandered over to him, picking up her glass of wine before she settled beside him. She took a sip before holding the glass out to him. He shook his head, and instead caught her lips in a loving kiss. When he finally pulled away, he returned his attention to the container, opening it up to reveal the various things stashed inside. "It was my grandfather's- on my mother's side." He clarified as she settled beside him. "This is all from World War Two."

"And... why did you bring it to my place?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. He met her gaze.

"Because of these." He pulled out the various books, handing one to her.

"_Journey Through Japan: A History of Culture and Art_?" She raised an eyebrow. He sighed.

"He was fascinated with Japan after the war ended. Was determined to go there someday and see the culture the Atomic bomb had destroyed. He was determined to make amends." She watched him sort through everything in the footlocker.

"Did he ever get there?" Tim shook his head, pulling out a couple photographs.

"No. He died in eighty-eight, when I was nine. In his will, he said that he left Mom a medallion but she never found it."

"A St. Christopher?" He met her gaze, thinking.

"Must be, yes. That must have been what she was talking about." She leaned close, studying the photographs.

"Who is he?" She asked, pointing to the second photograph- one of an injured young man in his Army uniform. Tim turned to her.

"My grandfather." Her eyes widened.

"That's-" He nodded.

"Yeah. He was injured near the end of the war. Lost an eye, a cheekbone and an ear. But even severely injured, he still fought. Still... survived."

"And who's that?" She pointed to the second photograph she held- a handsome young man in an Army uniform, smiling for the camera.

"My grandfather." Her gaze moved to him, shocked, before turning back to the two photographs.

"That's him?" He nodded. She leaned closer, studying the second photograph- the one taken before he'd shipped out. "He is very handsome." She glanced at him and then the photograph. "Like you." He chuckled, kissing her quickly. "So what are you thinking?"

"Sorry?" She watched him flip through the books.

"You are thinking something, Timothy. What are you thinking?" He didn't stop looking even as he spoke.

"I'm thinking... that I am in the company of a beautiful woman tonight."

"I meant about the books." He ignored her for a moment as he picked up a copy of_ Rebecca_ and began flipping pages.

"I don't know, just that... even if I don't find the medallion, at least I've have-" He stopped, as a page in the middle of the book fell back, revealing a thin strip of ribbon that fell back over the spine. Ziva turned her attention to what he was staring at.

"What is it?"

"I'm not... sure..." He shifted the book to look at the spine, and was surprised to see that the ribbon was stuffed within, between the binding of the pages and the spine of the book, creating a loop that sat above. Slowly, he tugged on the ribbon, only to meet resistance. "Zi, get me knife." She glanced at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"But Tim that has to be... at least a first edition of-" When it came to literature, Du Maurier was Ziva's favorite author, with Bronte a close second. During her days at university in Israel, she'd studied everything on Du Maurier, and knew a first edition when she saw one. And the fact that her partner was about to destroy such a beautiful, rare book-

"Zi, I need a knife, now." She climbed to her feet, rushing into the kitchen and then returning with one of her combat knives as he closed the footlocker. He took it, and turned the book over so that it lay with its pages open on the lid. She watched as Tim gently, almost reverently, slid the tip of the blade along the edge of the one of the spine edges. As the spine fell away, Tim felt his heart stop. Ziva leaned close to look over his shoulder.

"What is that?" He couldn't take his eyes off the trinket that lay within the spine. After a moment, he breathed,

"My mother's medallion."


	30. Chapter 30

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 24, 25, 27 and 29; Gottahavemyncis for reviewing 25; alix33 for reviewing 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 and 29; Reader for reviewing 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 and 29. **

"We... we found it?" She asked. He nodded, meeting her gaze. Without a word, he caught her lips in a deep kiss, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. When they finally broke apart, he whispered,

"Thank you." She gave him a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before she got up and went to the kitchen. As she filled a second glass with wine, she watched as he lifted the medallion out; it sparked in the light from the fire. As she returned to the living room, she caught sight of his eyes sparking with a light that hadn't been there since his father's death started all this. She gently nudged him, and he turned, accepting the wine she offered. Once she settled back beside him, she asked,

"What is it tied to?" He turned his attention to it, confusion knitting his brow.

"I don't- at first I thought it was a ribbon, but now that I see it... it's too.. thin to be a ribbon." Ziva leaned close, to study it.

"It looks almost like... floss." He followed her gaze, running his fingers over it.

"Flo... embroidery floss, _of course_."

"Embroidery what?" She asked, confused.

"Embroidery floss. It... it's a type of thread used when you make embroider something, like a napkin... a tablecloth... my mom used to embroider quilts. I remember because I used to help her select the floss for her projects." He quickly put everything back in the footlocker and closed it before getting up. Ziva watched as he headed for the door. "I have to go back; if she's right, then those quilts will be somewhere-"

"Tim!" He turned back to her. She climbed to her feet, taking his hand and closing the door before locking it. "It's close to midnight. You can't go back now. You need to sleep." But he pulled away, too wound up thanks to his discovery.

"I _have_ to go back, Ziva. If I'm_ right_, then my mom's-"

"They'll still be there in the morning, and in the afternoon and the evening. Tim, you need to sleep, you're exhausted."

"I'm not exhausted, Ziva, I'm wired." She sighed.

"Then let's find something to exhaust you, and maybe you'll sleep." He glanced at the footlocker, and she turned his chin back towards her, a grin tugging at her lips as she spoke. "_Not that_."

* * *

With one swift maneuver, he lay on his back among the blankets and pillows of her bed, his hands roaming over her soft, sweat-soaked skin. Her chest heaved, and after raking a hand through her sweaty hair, she leaned down, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. A groan escaped her throat as she adjusted to his thickness before they found that familiar rhythm. His hands roamed up and down her back, one tangling in her hair as the other caressed her ass. After several minutes, she leaned down, catching his lips in a deep kiss that was enough of a distraction for her that Tim was able to take control.

He worked on her throat, each deep kiss leaving dark, deep marks on her soft, tanned skin. Tim was never one to do anything to a woman that showed possession, and maybe that was where he went wrong in the love department. Every so often, there would be that one woman who liked knowing she belonged to a man, but Tim... Tim had never felt that he deserved to mark a woman in that way. Even now as he gently scrapped his teeth against Ziva's soft skin, he didn't feel that he deserved to leave the marks on her skin that he knew would be there in the morning.

After several minutes, he returned his mouth to hers, drinking in her taste. Her fingers moved to tangle in his hair, and as he pulled away, she saw the pain in his eyes. A moment passed, before he kissed her forehead, and then moved lower. A groan escaped her throat as he thrust deeper into her, and she tightened her grip on his thighs with her knees. As they reached their climax and came down from their high, she met his gaze, giving him a small smile. She closed her eyes, catching her breath, before a gasp escaped her throat at the feel of his tongue gently teasing the bud of her nipple. "Tim-"

But he soon returned his mouth to hers, drinking her in as a pounding started at the door. He pulled away. "Who the hell is awake at this time of night?" She sighed.

"My neighbor." She whispered, covering her eyes with her arm and taking a deep breath. "Just ignore it; she'll go away."

"You sure?" She nodded.

The pounding stopped. She met his gaze. "I told you." Their lips met in more soft kisses that soon turned deep. She tangled a hand in his hair, as one foot traced patterns up his leg, eventually brushing gently against his sac before moving to wrap around his waist. As they let the welcoming hum settled throughout their bodies, the pounding started up again.

"I thought you said she'd go away, Ziva."

"I did." She replied, covering her eyes again.

"What I want to know is why she'd be up at-" He stopped. "Never mind." Ziva chuckled, and then regretfully moved out from beneath him. As she got up, she snatched a shirt up from the floor and pulled it on, heading out into the living room as Tim followed after pulling on his boxers. But he stayed in the kitchen, as Ziva headed into the living room and glanced through the peephole in the door. She groaned internally, rolling her eyes. Catherine Sandborne, the spinster from next door, in a pair of pink pajamas and a red and white Christmas decorated robe.

"Open up, David." Tim watched, interest piqued. After a moment, she unlocked the door, pulling it open only wide enough so she could stick her head out.

"Hey Catherine. What's up?" The other woman glared at her. "Something wrong?"

"Do you know what I've been hearing all night? Or... for the last few nights over the last several months, rather?" Ziva shook her head, confused. "_'Oh my God! Keep_ _going! Keep_-'" She stopped as it suddenly dawned on Ziva. "I've been listening to that_ for months_! _Do you ever quit_?"

"I-" But Tim pulled the door open, joining Ziva.

"Hey, you must be Ziva's neighbor." The woman turned her gaze to Tim, annoyance filling her eyes as she slowly took in his beautiful physique. She sniffed derisively.

"Yes. And who are you?" Tim chuckled gently.

"I'm afraid I'm the one that's been causing you to stay up nights. It's been a rough couple of months and we've been using sex as a bit of a release. I promise, we'll keep it down from now on." She glanced at him and then at Ziva.

"Fine. But if I keeping hearing that, I'm gonna call the cops on you both for domestic disturbance." Then, without a word, she turned and left, slamming her door. Tim and Ziva watched her go, before turning to each other. A moment passed, before they burst out laughing and Ziva shut the door behind them.

"Thank you so much for covering for me." He shrugged.

"Not a problem. Since it is partially my fault." She shook her head, reaching up and taking his face in her hands.

"No, Tim, it's not your fault. Catherine Sandborne has just never had sex so she's probably just jealous." He chuckled, pulling her closer.

"So, what do you say?" She tilted her head to the side. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to her temple. "To making Ms. Sandborne even more jealous that she's never had sex?" She met his gaze, grinning.

"Sounds good."


	31. Chapter 31

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

He sighed, the medallion clutched tight in his hand. He'd asked yesterday for the following day off from work, because he needed to take care of a few things dealing with his father's estate- mainly the final dividing of his assets and the reading of his will. Contrary to popular family belief, John McGee was quite the cash cow- he had stacks and rolls of money in various banks all around the world; hidden from everyone, even his own family. It was money that could have been used to pay off his debts, to pay for his wife's funeral expenses after her death, to put his children through college. No one knew where he obtained the money or how, and no one in the family asked; most didn't know.

Now though, Tim made his way into the grassy commons, looking for his little sister. Sarah had since returned to school, after spending a few weeks with Penny up in Martha's Vineyard- their grandmother was convinced that the old adage, "out of sight, out of mind" was the best philosophy when it came to painful subjects. She had asked Tim to come, but he'd refused, saying that he couldn't miss work, even though Vance had been more than willing to give him time off.

It had been years since he'd stepped back onto Waverly's campus, since Madison, the head cheerleader, had set his baby sister up to be raped, that had soon resulted in murder of Sarah's ex-boyfriend. Laughter soon reached his ears, and he turned, to see Sarah sitting on one of the steps, with Carolyn, the former girlfriend of Sarah's ex. Honestly, Tim wasn't surprised. After it was revealed that Madison and Officer Tate had killed Seaman Petty, Carolyn had quit the cheerleading squad.

She had actually been one of Sarah's best friends in elementary- they'd done everything together, and when Tim and Sarah had moved, so had Carolyn. Both girls grew up in military households- Sarah, Navy, and Carolyn, Army- and they kept in touch, spending summers together. Their friendship had drifted in high school, but they'd made up by freshman year at Waverly, until Carolyn made the cheerleading team and Sarah buried herself in books. From there, the friendship strained, and eventually snapped when Seaman Petty dumped Sarah for Carolyn, forcing Sarah to move out of the room she and Carolyn shared and into a new one. But now, it appeared that they were back to their old childhood friendship.

He made his way towards the two, hands in his pockets. Sarah looked up, eyes lighting up. "Timmy!" She climbed to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her, hugging her back. "What are you doing here this early? Shouldn't you be at work?" She turned back to Carolyn. "Sorry, you remember-"

He nodded. "I remember Carolyn. Good to see you again. And... under better circumstances." She smiled softly, as Sarah tugged her brother towards the steps they were sitting on.

"What are you doing here, Timmy? It's like... three in the morning... shouldn't you be at work?" He bit his lip. "Or don't you usually go running with Ziva before going to work?"

"Ziva?" Sarah turned to Carolyn.

"Remember the really pretty Israeli girl that arrested Tate?" Carolyn thought a moment, before nodding. "That's Ziva. Timmy has a crush on her." He narrowed his eyes at her.

_"Sarah, shut up."_ She giggled, and even Tim couldn't stay stern for long. It had been weeks since he'd seen his baby sister so happy. "Besides. It's zero-five-hundred, and I asked Vance yesterday to have the day off. I have to take care of a few things concerning Dad's will." Sarah's face fell, and she reached out for him.

"I'm so sorry you have to take care of it, Timmy. Do you need me to-" He shook his head.

"No. I'll be fine." He glanced around, thinking. "Any place around this lousy campus to get a cup of coffee?"

"Lousy?" Carolyn's mouth dropped in surprise.

"Just because _you_ went to MIT and John Hopkins, that are like... super schools, doesn't mean Waverly sucks." Sarah replied.

"You went to MIT?" Tim nodded at Carolyn.

"So, coffee? Yes? No? Or do we have to go off campus?" The girls stood, and Sarah linked her arm through her brother's and then Carolyn's, laughing.

"Come on. The cafe's open."

* * *

"Do you remember the stories Mom would tell us about Grandpa James?" Sarah shook her head; the trio sat in a corner of the campus café, enjoying the quiet that surrounded and the scent of coffee beans and espresso; occasionally, the blasting of the steamer would cut through their conversation, but they didn't mind.

"Grandpa James? The one who fought in Normandy on D-Day?" Tim nodded.

"Your grandfather participated in D-Day?" Sarah nodded, sighing.

"Yep. Mom's side of the family was Army; Dad's Navy. Grandpa James was wounded. Lost an eye and an... ear and..."

"A cheekbone." Tim whispered. "He was quite the Frankenstein monster." He shook his head. "But we loved him. Had a heart of gold. Told us stories about the fighting-"

"About the women in _Paris_ that he _turned down_..." Sarah added sadly. The other two shared a glance. "Taught us songs; always was willing to play with us. Navy Travel, I this is what we called it."

"_Army Travel_, Sar. Remember? He used to say that the Navy were a bunch of sitting ducks and the Army-"

"Were the only ones to do anything." She finished softly, nodding. "Yeah, I remember." She sipped her coffee, watching her brother, before asking, "So... what's this about, Timmy? Why bring up Grandpa James?" Tim sighed, reaching into his pocket.

"I found it, Sarah." She furrowed her brow.

"Found what?" He bit his lip as his fingers wrapped around the medallion.

"Mom's medallion. The one Grandpa James gave her?" She had to think a moment, before nodding.

"Well, what about it?"

"I found it." He pulled it out, holding the small bronze medallion out to her, still tied with the dental floss. Her mouth dropped, and she met his gaze.


	32. Chapter 32

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

She stretched, sighing in contentment. As she shifted onto her back, she sighed; once more, he was gone, and if she was correct, there would be a cup of coffee waiting for her on the nightstand.

She was right.

After a moment, she sat up, grabbing the cup and taking a sip. Her gaze wandered to the dolls behind the lamp, and after a moment, she got up, picking up the dolls and settling on the floor. She set her cup down and picked up Nicholas. A quick study of the back of the doll told her that the paint had been scraped, and a piece of the wood chipped off when it hit the floor; the same injury was reflected on the base. Gently, she opened him up, lifting Alexandra out before she put Nicholas back together. Then she turned to Alexandra. A moment passed before she slowly twisted the empress loose and lifted her head away from her body.

It was Olga's gaze that met her. The girl was dressed in a beautiful white gown; most likely the formal gown from the Tercentenary photographs. As she lifted Olga out and put Alexandra together again, she sighed, setting the empress beside her husband and turning to the oldest of the duchesses.

If her history was correct, Olga had been about twenty-three when she died in the basement of the House of Special Purpose with her family. She had been the protector, the one that looked out for her younger siblings, and when the war hit and she, two of her younger sisters and her brother were forced to stay at Tobolsk while the Bolsheviks transported Nicholas, Alexandra, and Maria to Yekaterinburg in carriages. Ziva sighed, studying the portrait of the older girl.

She too, knew what it was like to be the oldest, to be handed most of the responsibility. And so did Tim. They both had been forced to grow up faster than they should have. Gently, she trailed a finger over Olga's features, thinking. There was something about the doll that reminded her of Tim.

And suddenly it hit her.

He was_ exactly_ like the matryoshka doll.

Just as each doll revealed another one- Alexandra, Tatiana, Maria, Alexei, Anastasia- hidden within the last, so did Tim. Every new report, new discovery about his mother's death peeled back another layer of the man Ziva had grown close to. And with each new discovery, a new layer of the truth was revealed, no matter how painful that truth was.

She picked Olga up, studying her features. If she opened her up, she would find Tatiana, and within Tatiana, Maria, who would be hiding Anastasia, and at last, if she opened up Anastasia, she would find Alexei, the heir to the Russian throne.

Now if she could just do the same with Tim, maybe it would bring about the closure he and Sarah so _desperately_ needed.

She reached up, checking the time on her cell and quickly put the dolls away, climbing to her feet. She set the cup on the nightstand and once replacing the dolls in their spot, she started getting dressed. Sure, she didn't need to be at work until zero-seven-hundred and it was only a little after five-thirty, but still, she would rather be at work than home right now. She had just enough time to take a shower and stop for coffee before she had to clock in. As she started the shower and shut the bathroom door, she stopped, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She had to be seeing wrong; but even as she stepped closer, she came to the growing realization that she wasn't wrong.

Bite marks, hundreds of them, marred her skin, down her arms and over her chest, across her stomach and in row on her arms and legs. She turned, glancing over her shoulder; the same type of marks paraded down her back and over her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. Some were older, some more recent. She tilted her head to the side; the most recent ones were on her neck, shoulders, chest and arms. It was... almost as if he were marking her, making sure everyone knew that she was his.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and after a moment, she stepped into the shower.

* * *

"Where did you find it, Timmy?" He handed the medallion to Sarah, who studied it silently. Carolyn leaned close to look.

"In the spine of one of Grandpa James's books." He whispered, sipping his coffee.

"Which one?"

"Rebecca." Sarah chuckled.

"Grandpa always did love Du Maurier." After several minutes, she handed it back to him. "So, you gonna keep looking today?" He shrugged.

"If I have time." Carolyn furrowed a brow.

"Why wouldn't you have time?" The agent sighed, crossing his arms on the table.

"Because I have to see dad's lawyer about the reading of the will and the dividing of his assets." Sarah met her brother's gaze, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

"Well... you both should get something. You are his kids after all. And... I know a military salary doesn't bring much- not like everyone thinks- but... but he had to have something. You should get something from his will." Tim rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Sarah, who bit her lip and lowered her head.

"It's... not likely that we'll see anything, Carolyn."

"Why not? He put you in his will, didn't he?"

"We don't know." Sarah whispered.

"That's what I'm gonna find out today." Tim added, shoulders slumping. "Our dad... he wasn't exactly right, Carolyn. He got worse as he got older. Brain tumor." The other girl nodded in understanding. "I think... his lawyer said that... he would be reading it later tonight, so after you get out of class, Sarah. I can pick you up." She nodded. "I gotta get going." He stood, and suddenly, Sarah shot to her feet, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

"I love you, Timmy." He hugged her, squeezing tightly.

"I love you too, Sar." Then, with a kiss to her temple and a promise that he'd pick her up from her last class, he left.


	33. Chapter 33

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Small fingers slid through his, and he glanced down, squeezing gently. Sarah met his eye, and he gave her a small smile. After meeting with the lawyer, Tim had gone back to the house and helped Emma and the others clean before picking Sarah up at eight. Now, they all sat in the lobby of the lawyer's office, waiting. He glanced at his cousins- Emma reached over, squeezing his shoulder, and Jake gave him a quick smile. Amy was silent, fiddling with the promise ring her girlfriend had given her earlier in the year. Penny was also there, eager to make sure her son had done right by his children and left them the money they so rightly deserved.

Money that could pay off their father's debts, and the rest of Sarah's schooling. Money that could give them both a good deal of financial security to fall back one when they bought a house, got married, started families of their own. "Shall we start?" Tim nodded, not trusting his voice. He listened in silence as the man explained the process, squeezing Sarah's hand in support every so often. He quickly explained that the majority of John's assets had been left to the Wounded Warrior project, and to the various foundations set up for military families to pay for funeral expenses or medical care. That was understandable. What wasn't understandable was what was in the will.

"... I hereby leave, to my two surviving children, Timothy and Sarah..."

_"Nothing!_ How can that_ bastard_ son of mine leave his children_ nothing_?" Tim closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. Sarah dug her nails into his skin, and he squeezed back. "I_ understand_, that my son left the _majority_ of his assets to the military,_ really I do_! They're a noble bunch, my Timothy is among them, but to leave the military so much and_ nothing for my grandchildren_-"

"Penny,_ that's enough_!" The older woman turned to her grandson, eyes wide. Tim stood, yanking his hand from Sarah's. "It's done! It's over with! Okay? We understand, Sarah and I- we've_ always_ understood! We've always known that we were never as important to him as the military was. We get that, we _grew up_ with that, we _accepted_ that! This-" He gestured to the documents on the desk. "This is just another form of him saying that we will_ always_ play _second fiddle_ to the military, to Mom. We understand, and _believe me_, Penny, I accepted it a _long time ago_ that I would _never_ be anything other than a failure in Dad's eyes. But to cut _Sarah_ out too..." He took a deep breath, tears in his eyes. _"That's_ unacceptable."

"Oh Timothy, sweetheart-" She reached for him, but he pulled away, leaving the room.

* * *

"Timmy. _Timmy, wait_!"

He looked up from his pacing, to see Sarah rushing towards him. She stopped a couple feet from where he stood, her black dress hanging on her tiny frame. It was clear she hadn't been eating well, just as he hadn't been sleeping well, nights with Ziva or no. "What... what did you mean?"

"About what, Sar?" He asked, resuming his pacing.

"_'To cut Sarah out too.'_" He stopped, looking up at her. She shrugged. "What about you?" He sighed. "You deserve that money too."

"Sarah-" She went to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms tight around her, pressing a kiss to her head. "That money was supposed to pay for the rest of your school. And the last of the mortgage on the house." He sighed, tightening his grip on her and swaying gently back and forth. "And be enough to..." He pressed another kiss to her temple. "Take us to Ireland, so we could trace our roots. Find the rest of Mom's family. Get to know them. Start over." She broke down, fingers tangling in the soft material of his jacket. "And it's gone. It's all gone. The bastard kept it from us, like he kept everything else. Like he kept Mom." Slowly, Sarah pulled away.

"I want to see her, Timmy." He met her gaze, and then he quickly shook his head.

"No, Sarah."

"It's not fair, that you got to see her, and I didn't. I barely remember Mama... I have better memories of Grandpa than I do Mama. And you got to see her and I don't. _How is that fair_?" He sighed, thinking. After a moment, he nodded.

"Okay. I'll let you see her. But you have to promise not to hurt her. She's... fragile. Broken." He licked his lips. "I wanted to hit her when I saw her in Autopsy that first day. I wanted to break every bone in her body for leaving us with _him_. But I didn't. I couldn't. She'd already suffered enough. She didn't need to suffer more. She still doesn't." He met his sister's gaze. "Are we clear, Sarah? Mama's fragile." She nodded.

As they left, Emma joined Penny, shaking her head. "I don't understand. Uncle John... he loved Tim and Sarah."

"But he loved Emily more, and he loved the military more than her. I raised John to be_ better_ than this. To protect and _provide_ for his family, even after his death. How could he do such a thing, and leave his own children out of the will?"

"Maybe it was the brain tumor?" Both women turned as Amy and Jake joined them.

"A brain tumor would be part of it, Ames, but... but not all of it. Something else was going on. Something Uncle John didn't want anyone finding out." Emma crossed her arms over her chest.

"Could it have something to do with the body we found in the wall of the house?" Jake asked. Penny's head snapped up.

"What body?" Jake glanced at his sisters. Emma swallowed.

"Amy found... a bag buried in a wall of the living room of the house in Alexandria. It was... wrapped in a blanket that was wrapped in a black garbage bag. Inside it was a human fetus."


	34. Chapter 34

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Sarah choked on a sob as her brother pulled the tray out. Tears began to cloud her vision as she knelt down to see her mother. A moment passed, before Tim joined her. The college student shook her head. _"It's not fair... why did it have to be Mama? What did she ever do to anyone?"_

"I don't know, Sar." After a moment, Sarah reached out, being careful. She lowered the sheet and traced the cross-stitching on her mother's chest, from Ducky's autopsy.

"He_ loved_ her. You don't do that to _someone you love."_ She shook her head, turning to meet her brother's gaze. "Mommy didn't deserve this... why did he do this?" Tim gathered her to his chest, gently rocking his sister back and forth.

"Mr. Palmer-"

"Shh." Ducky and Jimmy, who stood near the entrance to Autopsy, watched in silence as Tim let Sarah see their mother. "I came down and... they were here. I think Sarah wanted to see her mom." The elderly M.E. nodded, staying silent out of respect. But the voices that broke the silence didn't.

"What do you have for me, Duck?"

"I wanted to come down and meet Timmy's mom."

"Abby has some more samples for you to run-"

_"Shh!"_ The medical examiner turned to the three agents and the forensic that entered the room, a glare on his features. "Show a little respect, all of you." As the four gathered to see, Tony asked,

"I thought McGee took the day off."

"He did, Anthony, but Sarah wanted to see her mother. And frankly, I do not blame her. But I do pity them for the situation they have found themselves in." Ducky whispered, turning back to Emily's children. Ziva's ears perked up at the conversation.

"I don't... understand, Timmy. How could... how could he just... cut us out like that? We're his kids..." Tim took her face in his hands, brushing the tears off her cheeks.

"I don't know, Sarah. And I don't know about you, but I had plans for that money. Pay for the rest of your schooling, pay the last of the mortgage on the house. Meet Mama's family in Ireland."

"Go to Paris, like we planned?" He chuckled softly, nodding. "And live under false identities like Ernest Hemingway and Virginia Woolf and live like artists. Have wild affairs and... forget the rest of the world exists." She suggested, and he grinned, brushing another tear off her cheek.

"Walk on the beach at Normandy where Grandpa James stood. And go to Japan and meet the soldier that saved his life." Sarah took a deep breath, glancing back at Emily. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair off her mother's forehead.

"She was so pretty."

"Like you." He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"What... happened to her, Timmy? I... I don't really remember..." He took a deep breath, licking his lips nervously. Then, in a soft whisper, he spoke, never taking his eyes off his mother.

"Ducky thinks... that Dad snapped her neck. That... he did something to... make her go into labor and then... something happened to the baby and... he lost his temper and... killed her."

"Baby?" Sarah turned to him. "What baby?"

"We have a little sister. You don't remember, but I remember. Vaguely. I remember sitting beside her on the sofa and... laying a hand on her belly and... feeling the baby move. I remember her telling me I would have another little sister to protect." He sniffled. "But I couldn't protect her, like I couldn't protect Mom." He tightened his arms around her waist, pressing another kiss to her hair. "I was... barely able to protect you." He gently brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. "Let alone myself or anyone else."

"I don't remember. I just remember... Mama lying there... and you screaming... trying to wake her up. And there were bottles on the floor." She met her brother's gaze before laying her head on his shoulder. _"I want her back, Timmy. I want her back_..." He held her close; when he looked up, it was to Gibbs, standing over him. He held out a hand for Sarah.

"Come on, you two. It's time we had a talk."

* * *

By the time they arrived in the conference room, Penny, Emma and her siblings were already there, waiting. Sarah rushed to Penny, burrowing into her grandmother's arms. "She doesn't look like Mama, Penny. _That's not Mama_." She broke down, and the older woman held her close, stroking her back. Tim stayed by the door, watching the scene but not seeing. Ziva sidled up to him, taking his hand.

"You okay?" He nodded, not hearing her.

"Have a seat, all of you." Gibbs's tone was gentle, and after a moment, they all settled around the table. Tim stayed closed to Sarah, holding tight to her hand. After a moment, Gibbs placed a record in front of the siblings, and started it. Penny glanced at it, eyes narrowing.

"Is that _really_ necessary, Agent Gibbs?" He met her gaze, before taking a seat across from them. Tony and Ziva joined him, on either side.

"Tim, Sarah. Tim, look at me." Slowly, the younger agent lifted his gaze, and Gibbs saw what had once been in his own eyes, long ago.

His kid had given up.

"Tim." Ziva nodded towards Gibbs, but Tim didn't respond.

"We have... sufficient evidence to charge your father with the murder of your mother and your baby sister."

"Murder?" Sarah asked, not comprehending the severity of the word. Gibbs nodded, blue eyes studying the young woman.

"Yes. We just need, one more thing."

"What's that?" Tim asked, voice and manner stoic. Gibbs set a pad and pen in front of his younger agent. Slowly, Tim raised his eyes to meet his team leader's.

"Your statement."


	35. Chapter 35

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 31, 32, 33 and 34; alix33 for reviewing 30, 31 and 33; and Reader for reviewing 30, 31, 32, 33 and 34.**

"Statement? What statement? Timmy didn't do anything to Aunt Emily." Amy glanced at the pen and paper and then at Gibbs. She had met the older man when Emma called that day, and had seen them at the cemetery, but she didn't know the man. Nor did she particularly want to. Gibbs sighed.

"We know. But we need the_ truth_. We need to know what really happened the night Emily McGee died, and the only one that can tell us, that was there that night and remembers, is Tim. Both John and Emily are dead."

Silence fell for several minutes, before Ducky moved forward. "And the poor dear has told us enough all ready." He sighed, meeting Amy's gaze momentarily before turning to Tim and Sarah, his gaze latching onto the young agent. "Both she and the barren are tired of talking. It's up to her son to finish the story for her."

Tim shook his head, tears in his eyes; he didn't look up at Ducky, didn't meet Ziva's gaze across the table, just stared at the wood, tracing the patterns in it. "I don't... I told you... I _don't_ remember."

"Tim-" He looked up at Gibbs, shaking his head.

"She committed suicide, Gibbs. There... there were bottles on the floor..."

"No, Tim, she _didn't_. She was murdered. And you saw it happen." The Team Leader had moved around to stand behind his agent, and gently he reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I need the truth, Tim. I need the whole story." The younger man shook his head.

"I don't remember it."

"Yes, you do, Tim. I_ know_ you do." He shook his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I know you remember." Slowly, Gibbs knelt down to look into Tim's green eyes. "And I know you buried it deep inside so it could never come out again, and so no one could ever know about it. I know it's in there. And I know you've been trying to forget for years, that's why you keep your life private. I know it affected you. Whatever happened would affect any little boy. But you're not a child anymore, Tim. You need to face it. You need to find closure, and telling us what happened to your mom will give you that." Gently, he reached up to cradle Tim's cheek, but he pushed the older man away.

_"No, don't touch me!"_

He choked on a sob. turning from his boss. "Don't touch me. No, don't touch me."

"Timmy?" He looked up, meeting Emma's gaze. "Timmy, what's wrong?" She rushed to him, taking his hand as she knelt beside him.

"Don't touch me... she kept..." Emma looked up at Gibbs.

"What did you do to him? What did you _say_ to my cousin?" Gibbs kept quiet. After a moment, Emma turned back to him. "Timmy, is it about Aunt Emi? Timmy, talk to me."

"Your father killed your mother, Tim. He snapped her neck." Tony's voice was soft; he stood close to the door, horror filling every fiber of his being as he watched his partner fall apart. Tim shook his head.

"No. She... she overdosed... Dad... he was trying to _perform CPR_... he was trying to _save her_..."

"Unfortunately, Timothy, your mother's body says otherwise." Ducky whispered, glancing at Gibbs. Ziva stayed silent, even though she longed to gather him in her arms and hold him, she knew that was the last thing he would want. He'd turn to his family before turning to her and the rest of his team.

Those were the words that seemed to set Tim off.

He shot out of his chair so fast, it toppled over. Shaking his head violently, he backed away from all of them, stumbling over the chair and ending up on the floor. Without a word, he crab walked back towards the far corner, eventually breaking down when he bumped into the wall. "I just get... quick film cuts..."

"_Hold onto them_, Tim." Gibbs whispered.

"I _don't want to_..." He choked on a sob, shaking his head. Without a word, Ziva got up, slowly moving towards the man who'd become her world in the last few months.

"Ziva, what are you-" But she shushed Tony with a wave before turning back to her lover.

"Tim. Tim, look at me. Talk to me. Okay? I want you to tell me what happened, okay? I want you to remember what happened to your mom and I want you to tell me. Okay? Can you do that? Can you tell me what happened?" She crawled slowly towards him, making sure his gaze was locked on hers. "Please, Tim. Tell me what happened."

He took a deep breath, choking on a sob. A moment passed, before he shook his head. "She's screaming... 'don't touch me! Don't touch me!' and..."

_"No, don't touch me!" _

_"I'll touch you if I want! Every other man does!"_

_"What are you talking about? What man?" _

_"The man you've been sleeping with! The one who's bastard you're carrying!"_

"He accused her of cheating... and he... he threw her on the bed... kicked her... I... watched from the..."

_He poked his head around the doorframe, ducking back whenever the older man turned around_. _Eventually, he disappeared, and the boy slowly came out from hiding._

"She was screaming... there was blood everywhere... all... all over the blankets and... all over her... all over everything..."

_"Mama?" But she ignored her son; she wrapped her arms protectively around her middle, screaming in pain. Those screams would echo in her son's head for the rest of his life._

"I hid again because... he came back..."

"Who, Tim?" Ziva whispered, but he shook his head, covering his ears. He rocked back and forth, muttering softly to himself.

"No, _mustn't tell, mustn't tell_... you can't tell, _I'll hurt you if you tell_." Ziva reached out for him, but he jumped back, banging his head against the wall. She sighed, taking a deep breath.

"Tim, look at me. Talk to me, tell me what happened next. Tim, what happened next?" He met her gaze, eyes swimming in tears. In a soft voice, the agent whispered,

"He came back."

_Footsteps forced him to scurry back behind the door, but he peeked around to see him enter the room again. "What the hell did you do?"_ _She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. _

_"She's not crying... why isn't she crying?" _

_"You killed her. You killed my daughter!" She pushed him away. _

_"You're the one that killed our daughter, John! You!"_

Tim shook his head, turning away from Ziva. "Tim, what did he do next, huh? What did he do?" He took a deep breath.

"He got on top of her."

_He peeked around the doorframe again; the man was on top of her; she was screaming, trying to push him off. "Don't touch me, John!"_

"Don't touch me, John... don't touch me..." He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around legs as he struggled to keep from shaking.

_"You killed our daughter! You murdering, worthless bitch!"_

"He put..." Tim choked on a sob, reaching up and wrapping his own hands around his throat. "And he..."

"Stop it,_ please_! Can't you see this is only making everything worse?" Emma rushed to her cousin, but Gibbs grabbed her arm, shaking his head.

"Look at me, Tim, and tell me. I'm right here, I'm listening." Ziva whispered, catching his gaze. He shook his head, breaking down.

_He watched as they struggled, a lamp was knocked over, sending pill bottles all over the floor, heard her screaming for him to get off her-_

_And then heard the sound of something being snapped._

"He got off her... she wasn't moving..."

_He scurried back behind the door as the man left, heading into the living room. Once gone, he slipped into the bedroom. Empty bottles lay everywhere, the lamp was broken. "Mama?" A quick glance over his shoulder told him he was safe for now, and after a moment, he went to the bed. "Mama..." He reached up, shaking her shoulder; she stared at him, green eyes blank. Not a hint of her soul remained within that broken body. "Wake up. Mama, you have to wake up... Mommy..." _

_She moved when he shook her, but he didn't fully understand that she couldn't hear him anymore. When her shook her harder, her arm fell off the bed, those beautiful, long slender fingers her son would someday possess swayed gently back and forth before becoming still. "Mommy, wake up... please..." _

_His head snapped up, and he moved to the end of the bed to look out the door. They were alone. Safe, for the moment. He swallowed, turning back to his mother. The blankets were covered in blood, and there was something lying between her legs that also wasn't moving. He'd never seen so much blood. "Mommy... Mommy!" _

_He suddenly heard a heart-wrenching scream, not realizing that it was coming from him._

"She wasn't moving... there was _so much blood_... and he came back... he came back... scissors..." Ducky swallowed; realizing that the cuts on the lips of Emily's labia were due to the scissors John had used when he cut the umbilical chord. "He... told..."

_"Do you see what you've done, boy? Huh? Look at this!_ _You've killed your mother and your sister!"_

"Blamed... blamed me..." He choked on a sob.

_"Do you know what they do to little boys who kill their mothers? Well, do you, boy? They put them in jail for the rest of their lives! And when they find out what you've done..." He swiped out at the child, striking him with the sharp edge of the open scissors, slicing through his cheek, the child cried out, clutching his cheek. "And when you're a very, very bad little boy, they kill you in jail. And you," He grabbed the boy's neck, pulling him close. "You have been a very, very bad little boy, Timothy."_

He choked on a sob. "When the po... po... police came... he... he..."

_"You mustn't tell them anything, are we clear?" He nodded._

Silence filled the conference room. Gibbs blinked tears out of his eyes, and he watched as Sarah broke down; Jake rushed to his cousin, pulling her into a hug. No one said a word as they tried to absorb Tim's story. It was Ziva that eventually broke the silence. "Oh, T... Tim..."

_"How could he do that? Oh God... I want him dead! I want to do what he did to her! I want to kill him myself for doing that to her, to us!_ _I hate him! I want him_ _dead! I know he's my father, but I want him dead! I want to snap his neck and see how he likes it! Oh God... I hate him!"_

His screams seemed to pierce every heart within the conference room as they realized that he'd been keeping that buried for nearly thirty years, out of some twisted, forced loyalty to his father. Loyalty that, now that John McGee was dead and his wife's 'suicide' opened as a homicide, was now null and void. The sudden realization dawned on all of them that Tim's loyalty to his father had finally been broken, that any sort of trust he'd ever held for the man had crumbled long ago, and that he- and Sarah- were finally free from John's death grip. Free to live their lives without their father's horrifying secret following them everywhere. Just, plain free.

He broke down completely then, curling in on himself. Sarah buried her face in Jake's shoulder, and Emma pulled her younger sister close. Ziva watched her lover, tears rolling down her cheeks. But then he moved towards her, wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders. Ziva sat back, startled, but after a moment, she pulled Tim closer, pressing a kiss to his head and wrapping her arms around him, burying a hand in his hair. His body shook with sobs, heart-wrenching and painful; he was no longer an agent, just a scared, lost little boy who'd witnessed his mother's murder, the death of his baby sister, and his father's sick attempts to clean up his crime.

Ziva took a deep breath, realizing that she'd just reached, in her own way, the heart of Tim's matryoshka doll.


	36. Chapter 36

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Ebony looked up; Tim stood on the other side of the counter, tears in his eyes. She quickly set down the glass she'd been cleaning and rushed out from behind the counter. "Tim, what happened?"

He met her gaze, and it was then that Ebony realized he was shaking, badly. "He killed her. _My father killed my mother_..." Without a word, she threw her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. Normally, a drink and some sibling-like banter would fix the wounds left by that long ago secret day, but tonight, all the bartender did was hold tight to her best friend and refuse to let go.

* * *

She sighed, dumping her gear by the door. Today had been emotionally draining for everyone, but especially for Tim and Sarah. The sudden realization that their father had murdered their mother and then covered it up left scars that would forever damage both of Emily's remaining children; scars that night never heal. After a moment, she wandered back into the bedroom, shimmying out of her jeans and shirt, and tossing them in the hamper. In only her underwear, she pulled Tim's grey shirt off the dresser and pulled it on, needing to feel close to him, especially if he didn't come by tonight. Just wearing it calmed her down, and after a moment, she went to her nightstand and picked up the doll, heading back into the front of the apartment.

After pouring a glass of wine, she settled on the sofa and silently worked on the doll. Nicholas and Alexandra watched in silence as she slowly revealed Tatiana hiding within Olga; her short hair flipped back and held with a pink headband. Maria soon followed, long curls tumbling over her shoulder, and after a moment, Ziva sat back, studying the third daughter of the Tsar.

Said to be the most beautiful of the grand duchesses, the portrait didn't really do her justice. Though Ziva had seen photographs of the nineteen-year-old murdered princess, and she had to agree, Maria was quite the beauty. After a moment, she twisted Maria apart, to find Anastasia waiting to be revealed. Once Maria was once again together, Ziva turned her gaze to Anastasia.

This was the daughter everyone knew about, that movies and books and plays had been written about. This fourth daughter of the Tsar, one of the original three daughters found with their parents at the Four Brothers Mine back in ninety-one. In reality, it had been Alexei and_ Maria_ missing, not Anastasia. And Ziva, long since fascinated with the murdered Russian royals, always felt that Anastasia unjustly deserved the attention that rightly belonged to her older sister. She sighed. It wasn't Anastasia's fault that since the massacre, everyone latched onto her in the hopes that the Russian monarchy still survived.

Just as it wasn't Tim's fault for his mother's death.

She bit her lip and slowly opened Anastasia; Alexei stared up at her with big blue eyes. Once she put Anastasia back together and set her beside her sisters. Her gaze moved back to Alexei, and she sighed.

Alexei, the heir apparent of the Romanov dynasty. The one who carried a deadly secret.

Just as Alexei's hemophilia could bring about the downfall of the Romanov line if discovered, so had Tim's secret nearly destroyed him. She'd watched as the man she had grown so close to fell apart today, relieving a memory he'd buried so deep, it had taken months of digging to reach. And like the royal family, finally discovered in July of ninety-one and released from the mystery that had surrounded their deaths for seventy-three years, so had Tim's revelation finally released him. The mystery that had nearly eaten him alive had been solved, setting both him and Sarah free. After a moment, she set Alexei down, between his parents and sisters; Olga and Tatiana on the left, Maria and Anastasia on the right, a family, finally free of their torment, allowed to live contentedly among the angels.

A soft knock soon sounded, breaking her thoughts up into a thousand pieces, and after a moment, she got up, going to the door. She quickly unlocked it, pulling it open slightly and slipping between the doorframe and the door. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Hey, I-"

But his lips crashed onto hers, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She tugged him back into her apartment and shut the door, pressing him against it. She held him close, allowing herself to taste the salt of his tears, and the sadness that still coated him like a second skin. When they finally broke for air, he rested his forehead against hers. One small hand came down to rest on his chest and she smiled. "I'm glad you came tonight." He nodded, catching her lips once more in his. They walked back towards the sofa, collapsing on it and sharing soft kisses and caresses. He pulled her onto his lap, deepening the kiss as her fingers worked on the buttons of his jacket. As it came off, she pulled away, searching his gaze momentarily before returning to the kiss.

She pulled away suddenly, remembering the wine. "Want some wine?" He thought a moment, before nodding silently. "I'll go get a glass." And she got up, leaving Tim to catch his breath. His gaze landed on the dolls sitting on the table, and after several minutes, he got up, following. Those were the dolls he'd gotten in Russia when he and Sarah went with Penny that week. So how had she-

Ziva stood with her back to him, humming a soft tune that she had to have invented. He watched her, noticing how the shirt she wore came to her mid-thigh, leaving those beautiful, shapely legs of hers exposed. As he moved closer, he realized that the black marks on her skin weren't marks at all, but bites. Dozens- no, hundreds- of bites, all in various stages of healing. A slight fever rushed to his head as he realized that he must have left those on her the night before. If there were that many on her legs, then how many were on her arms, and her chest and her shoulders? Or her neck?

He'd unintentionally marked her as his.

After letting himself absorb the realization that, according to social convention, Ziva was his now, he skulked up behind her, sliding his strong arms around her waist from behind, even though he was completely unsure of how to act around her now.


	37. Chapter 37

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Ziva stopped, feeling his strong arms go around her middle, and she smiled, turning to meet his gaze. "You know what?" She turned in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck, waiting.

"What?" He searched her gaze, taking a deep breath.

"Let's skip the wine."

He lifted her onto the kitchen table before pulling her close and capturing her mouth again. Her knees hugged his waist, and she reached down, working on his jeans. Once he was only in his boxers and shirt, she reached down, gently rubbing her palm against him. He only pulled her closer, until she was pressed up against him. A soft gasp escaped her throat as they brushed together. Eventually though, he pulled away from her mouth, moving to kiss her neck. "Is that my shirt?"

She nodded, as he slid the article in question up her body. The feel of his fingers grazing over where the soft material had once rested sent chills through her spine and Ziva found herself struggling not to rip his boxers off and take him then and there. Instead, she caught his lips in a kiss as he brought the shirt just beneath her breasts. "You want it back?" He shook his head, pulling it over hers before kissing her again. She whimpered as the chill of the air hit her chest, causing her nipples to harden.

"No. Looks better on you." She caught his mouth in a deep kiss as he tossed the shirt to the side, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the table she was sitting on. Her thighs hugged his waist tightly, and she tangled a hand in his hair. "Looks even better off of you." She grinned, chuckling softly before reaching down tugging on the collar of the light blue shirt he wore.

"You know what would look better?" He shook his head, meeting her gaze. "This off you." And without a word, she ripped the shirt open, scattering buttons everywhere. Once the offending shirt was gone, she wrapped her arms tight around him, burying her mouth in his. When she pulled away, she met his gaze, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry."

He shrugged, trailing on hand from her waist up to her breast. His thumb brushed against the hardened bud of her nipple and she inhaled sharply. A moment passed, before he leaned down, taking the sensitive bud gently between his teeth and brushing his tongue over the sensitive skin. She moaned softly, tangling a hand in his hair. Gently, she tugged, and he looked up, meeting her in the middle and instantly deepening the kiss. She reached down, hooking a finger into the waistband of his boxers and tugging. He ignored her, instead tugging her underwear off her body and pulling her closer. As the kisses got shallower, slowly, he finally gave in to her request and stepped out of his boxers.

Just the sight of this beautiful, damaged man made her heart constrict, and she longed to remind him that his nightmare was over; that his father couldn't hurt him or his sister anymore. Gently, she reached down, brushing her fingers along his length, as he pulled her closer. Before she could say a word, he reached down, sliding his fingers against her before slipping within. She groaned softly, her back arching as he found just the right spot, and after a moment, she grabbed his wrist, their gazes meeting. "I need you."

He kissed her deeply, removing his fingers and pulling her closer. When they finally came together, Ziva wrapped her legs tight around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder as he filled her completely. With the chaos of the day, she had almost forgotten how much they both needed this release. Eventually, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze. "Harder, Tim. I need all of you." _Every last piece, because you're mine._

Gently, he pressed a kiss to her lips, dragging his teeth along her bottom lip. When he pulled away, she moved her lips to his neck, sucking gently on the skin. Her hands trailed up and down his back, over the scars from his father's beating, and down over the firm curve of his ass. She continued her work on his skin, before finally returning her mouth to his. He drove into her, deeper, and then slid a hand down between them. _"God, Tim!"_

He chuckled softly as he continued to gently scrape his nail against the bud between her thighs, rolling it almost casually between his fingers. All the reserve she'd tried to hold onto flew out the window, sending her screaming his name repeatedly. She tightened hard around his length, and in minutes, came the sounds of his own sweet release in her ear. The now too-familiar hum began to work its way through their bodies, and they slowly came down from their high, meeting gazes. She rested her forehead to his. "God, Tim..."

"You've been saying that all day." He whispered, a microscopic hint of teasing behind the meaning of his words. She sighed, shaking her head, their noses brushing. Casually, she wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing in contentment as her eyes closed.

"Oh, God, Tim..." He sighed, relaxed, and pressed a kiss to her lips as her hands began to play with the downy hair at the nape of his neck. She herself began to relax, and it was in this relaxed, contented state that she breathed,

"I love you."

* * *

He awoke the next morning around four, to find himself in her bed, with Ziva wrapped possessively around him from behind. Sometime, during their night of explosive romance, they'd ended up between the sheets. She snuggled closer, burrowing her face into his shoulder, and after a moment, he slipped out of the bed. Just as he moved to leave, she reached out, her small, beautiful hand grabbing his wrist in a grip that slowly tightened, forcing him to stop and turn back. In a voice filled with sleep, she nuzzled closer to the pillow he'd vacated, and with sleepy, beautiful bedroom eyes, whispered,

"No, stay."

He met her barely-awake gaze, silent.

"Please."


	38. Chapter 38

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

She awoke to the strong scent of coffee filling the air, and shifted onto her back. She knew even before she reached out that he wasn't there. Sighing, she sat up, running a hand through her hair, gaze going to the pillow beside her. A moment passed, before she slowly climbed out of bed and pulled something on.

* * *

He quickly checked the timer on the stove, before wandering into the living room. Not a sound came from the bedroom, and after a moment, he took a seat on the sofa, head in his hands. He had no idea what to do now; last night had crossed a line he swore he'd never cross. Now, he had no idea what to do, or how to act around her. As he lifted his head, he was surprised to find the last royal family of Russia watching him. Gently, he picked up Alexei, cocking his head to the side.

_Wait a minute-_

This was his set. This was the set he'd bought in St. Petersburg that summer he and Sarah accompanied Penny on her trip to Russia. They'd started in Moscow, bouncing around the Russian continent for a month. They'd stood on the crumbling steps of the Livadia Palace, and walked the aisle of the Russian Orthodox Church, and examined the clothing and toys of the last Imperial Children. And to complete the trip, they'd stood in the church in Yekaterinburg, on the very spot where the House of Special Purpose had once stood, where the massacre of an entire family and the end of a dynasty had taken place. But what had gotten to Tim the most was sight of the Romanov burial in the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul; it drove home just how long a mystery had surrounded the family.

Sighing, he set Alexei down, and got up, heading back into the kitchen. He quickly removed the scones he'd made earlier, and set them aside to cool before getting out the jam and butter. A soft chuckle escaped his throat, as he realized how pathetic it was that he knew exactly where everything was. He stopped, grabbing his phone as he heard it vibrate, and after a moment, he picked it up, slipping into the living room to answer it. As Tim stepped out of the kitchen to answer his phone, Ziva slowly made her way into the kitchen, rubbing the back of her neck. She stopped, however, at the sight of the jam, butter and scones sitting on the stove, and the coffeemaker still working. Her brow furrowed and she quickly glanced around, not seeing the elves who had made breakfast while she slept.

As Tim hung up his call, he headed back into the kitchen, only to stop at the sight of Ziva wandering over. She glanced around, confused. Silence filled the room as he watched her at the stove, dressed only in his grew shirt. A moment passed, before he moved away from the wall, making his way into the kitchen. She stopped, but didn't turn around. "It used to have your scent on it."

He raised an eyebrow, going towards the coffeemaker and pouring two mugs before holding one out to her. "And now it doesn't?"

She shook her head. "It kind of... ended up soaked in the sink." He furrowed a brow, sipping his coffee.

"Why did it end up in the sink?" She swallowed her mouthful, a blush quickly coloring her cheeks. She looked down at the mug, tracing her finger along the rim.

"I may have... lost my temper." He raised an eyebrow; and her blush deepened in color. "It was... the night that you... that I saw you... kissing Ebony... and I... I came home and..." Tim nodded, understanding. She swallowed, meeting his gaze. "So... where... do we go from here?"

He thought a moment, before setting his mug down and reaching out for her. Her body instantly responded to his touch, and she allowed him to tug her close. A moment passed, where they just locked eyes, before he shook his head. "I don't know, Ziva."

She set her mug down before running her hands up his chest and gently cradling his neck. Slowly, she reached up, her thumb tracing the scar on his cheek- that she now knew was from when his father had struck him with the scissors back when he was a child, on the night of his mother's murder. Gently, she rested her forehead to his. Only the sounds of the coffee perking broke the silence; a moment passed, before he ran his hands up and down her back, tangling in her messy curls.

He sighed. He'd sworn when he got involved with Ziva that he would never get attached. That he would never allow himself to become so close to someone that it physically hurt to be away from them, like it was to be away from Ziva. She had taken up a good chunk of his life, helping him to forget- for a few hours, at least- that he wasn't caught up in this web of deceit and murder that his father had cast around him. A part of him screamed to walk away, to let go of her and forget about whatever this was, whatever they had, and to start new, as he and Sarah had planned as children. But he knew that he couldn't. He couldn't leave Ziva, not when she was such an integrated part of his life now.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight to him. Her gaze moved down to his neck, to the beautiful bruises that colored his alabaster skin. There was no way she was letting him go now; he belonged to her, in every way that mattered. The bites on his neck proved it, though she knew that he would do all he could to hide them, if only to keep Tony from taunting him like an immature child. Her fingers tenderly moved against the marks on his throat, before she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to them. When she pulled away and met his eyes, she saw the tears, the pain that had haunted him for years. Quickly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. He buried his face in her hair, sniffling. "I... I don't know."


	39. Chapter 39

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

"Are you sure we should do this, Timmy?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, glancing over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes.

"Sarah, it's Dad's house. It's... it's the house you grew up in. We have to start going through it eventually, better to start now or we'll never get it done." She sighed, sniffling.

"But Em and-"

"They've done enough already, We need to help." He stopped when he saw Sarah reach up and swipe at her eyes. "Come here." She went to him, launching herself into his arms and burying her face in his chest. Two days had passed since Gibbs had forced the truth of what had happened that night out of him, and Vance, upon learning where their case had turned, gave the team the weekend off, even though they'd originally been on rotation. Several of the other teams, having watched the slow descent of one of their own go on for weeks, were more than willing to take the shift that had belonged to Gibbs's team.

"Hey Tim, where do you want this?" He looked up as Tony came out of the house, carrying an old microwave. He sighed.

"Junk pile. Thanks, Tony." The older agent nodded, heading towards the pile indicated. With their days off, the rest of the team had offered to help Tim, Sarah and their cousins sort through the rest of the house in Alexandria. Gibbs was currently tearing up the rotted floor in the living room, and Tony was helping Jake and Amy go through the kitchen. Ziva, Sarah's friend Carolyn and Emma had moved out to the backyard, and were working on the shed behind the house.

Penny was focusing on the paperwork associated with her daughter-in-law's body and the digging of a new plot for her in the local cemetery in Silver Spring, promising her grandchildren that she would take care of the re-interment after making sure all the paperwork was clear. The siblings had fought for the last two days about whether to send Emily back to California or bury her here in D.C. Tim had wanted her close, but Sarah had insisted that she'd been content in California, and that was where she would stay. In the end, it was Penny that made the decision, saying that since Emily's remaining family was all on the east coast, that so should she be. They would inter her in the new plot on Monday morning. Her death had since been ruled a homicide, and because of John's death, the charges of murder dropped, though everyone knew he was paying a hefty price in Hell.

Sarah, who had finally gotten up the courage to come to the house, still hadn't stepped inside. She hadn't made it off the front lawn, in fact. He pressed a kiss to her head, before wrapping an arm around her waist and gently tugging her towards the porch. "Come on, one step at a time. I'm right here. I've got you." He pressed a kiss to her head, as they stepped into the house; Tim glanced at Gibbs, who was perfectly content to make kindling of the once beautiful hardwood floors that had rotted away to reveal the cement foundation underneath. Gently, Tim tugged Sarah towards the stairs, but she stopped, upon seeing the hole in the wall by the fireplace. She turned to him.

"Is that-" He nodded, and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, squeezing her tightly. He led her up the stairs, past their father's room towards hers, but she stopped. "Tim-" He glanced over his shoulder, before meeting her eyes. "Please?" Sighing, he nodded, taking her back to the bedroom. Once there, he let go of her, giving her a gentle push into the room. The bed had been removed as had the dressers, that had been shipped to Salvation Army. She looked around, before going to the closet and pulling open the door.

"I found Grandpa James's Army locker on the top shelf." He said, joining her. "I've been meaning to look for Mom's sewing basket, but I haven't been back here in a while." Slowly, the siblings sorted through the various things their father had kept stuffed in the closet. As they slowly reached the floor, Tim stopped, seeing something stick out from beneath the wall. He knelt down, reaching out to pull whatever it was out from under the wall, but it didn't budge.

"Timmy? What are you doing?" He turned to Sarah.

"There's something stuck under the wall." He continued to tug, only to let out a yelp and pull away. "Ouch!" A good-sized slice resided in his palm where he'd been holding onto whatever was stuck. She joined him, taking his hand.

"Oh, Timmy..." Her gaze moved to the floor, and she reached down pick it up, when he stopped her.

"Sarah, don't." She turned back to him. 'Never handle blood without gloves."

"But we're siblings-" He shook his head.

"Doesn't matter. There's a pair of gloves in my jacket pocket." Sarah gave him a look but kept quiet as she reached for them and pulled them on. "'Rule Two, always wear gloves at a crime scene.'"

"But this isn't a crime-"

"Doesn't matter. Blood and gloves. I don't want you catching anything I have." She furrowed her brow, turning back to him.

"You don't have anything-" She stopped, suddenly realizing what he meant. "You've been... with Z-?" He nodded once. "Has it been protected?" He nodded, sighing. "Then if it's protected, why-"

"Just wear the gloves, Sarah. Please? For me?" She finished putting the gloves on and turned to what her brother had been looking at. Gingerly, she picked it up, studying whatever it was; unaware that Tim had slipped downstairs to have his hand cleaned up and bandaged.

"It looks like... Timmy!_ Timmy!"_ He rushed back into the room, worry filling every fiber.

"What's wrong, Sarah?" She turned to him as he joined her, kneeling next to her.

"It's twine." He furrowed his brow.

"_What_?"

"What cut you- it's twine." She gently brushed a bit of blood away, studying it. "It looks like... sewing twine." He met her gaze, confused.

"But... what would sewing twine be doing under a wall-" He reached over, pressing against said wall, only to feel it give.

"What is it?" Without a word, Tim stood, reaching up and tugging at something that hung above him. Slowly, he pulled down a piece of wallpaper- rotting and moldy- revealing the wall beneath. As he continued to remove the paper, his breath caught.

"Sarah... it... it's a door..." He turned back to her. "It... it must be a... an ante room or something..." She stood, joining him. It was indeed a door; they could see the rusted hinges, and the hole where the handle had once been, that had apparently been painted over with caulking. Tim pressed hard on it, only to find that while the bar shifted, it didn't budge; if anything, it seemed to sink in on itself. "Sar, go downstairs and get the crowbar Amy's been using on the walls." She didn't move. "Sarah!" Without a word, she fled downstairs. Tim, meanwhile, let his gaze wander over what they'd just discovered. He kicked at the twine.

Sewing twine. _Sewing._

He felt his stomach drop as he realized why the twine was so familiar. After a moment, he buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, Mama..."


	40. Chapter 40

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

"I don't think we should be doing this, Timmy-"

"Sarah, the house is most likely going to be leveled and rebuilt anyway. A damaged door in the closet of the master bedroom isn't going to matter to the construction crew; just one last thing they have to... knock... down." He yanked once more, finally managing to tug the door open. "Got it." Taking a deep breath, he set the crowbar down, turning to his sister. "Help me with this, will ya?"

Together, the siblings managed to move the rotting door off its hinges and lean it against the far wall, where it began to crumble. Once done, Tim grabbed his flashlight, turning it on. He knelt down, picking up the twine that had been exposed. His gaze moved past the doorway; with the light on it, he could clearly see a string of twine that seemed to point them in the right direction. "Here. Take this." She accepted the flashlight, watching as her brother ducked into the small room. It wasn't very big, maybe three feet wide and three feet deep at most. He followed the twine, stopping when he nudged something on the ground. "Sarah! Sarah, bring the flashlight!"

She followed, stopping behind him. "What is that, Timmy?" He glanced at her, before kneeling down to study them. After a moment, Sarah followed. She settled the light on what appeared to be a large picnic basket covered in material. It lay on its side, the contents spilled out all over the floor. But what interested Tim was what shone behind the various balls of yarn and packets of buttons. He quickly moved the materials out of the way, reaching into the back.

"Sarah-" She moved closer, holding the light overhead so he could see. "It looks like..." But he stopped as he got ahold of whatever was hiding, and tugged on it, slowly pulling it out. As it spilled over into his lap, Sarah choked on a sob.

"Timmy, look..." She lowered the flashlight, so they could read the name sewn into the fabric. Tim leaned close, gently brushing a finger over the name.

"Grandpa James." He met her gaze, realizing they were both on the same train of thought.

* * *

After relaying what they'd discovered in John's closet, Gibbs ordered everyone to NCIS HQ, where he asked Vance for permission to use one of the autopsy tables. The director had agreed; since it was a slow day and most of the teams were working on cold cases, autopsy as empty, save for a few residents in the coolers. They came down to find Jimmy and Ducky sharing a pot of tea at one of the tables, and both were startled to see the team there on their day off. But all were surprised when Tim pushed through the group, dragging Sarah behind him. He carried what looked like an extra large picnic basket, and made their way towards the farthest autopsy table, near the coolers. Once there, Tim set the basket on the table and opened the lower cooler that held his mother.

"Jethro, do you know at all what Timothy and Sarah are doing?" Gibbs shook his head.

"All they asked was to come down to Autopsy, Duck. They wouldn't say why." Without a word, Tim dug into the basket, pulling out a mound of something that the others quickly realized were quilts. He and Sarah gently spread out the material on both tables nearest the cooler; each quilt was so large it draped over the tables as though they were beds, waiting to be slept on.

"They've _got_ to be Mama's quilts." Sarah whispered, meeting her brother's eye. Ziva watched as Tim shut the basket and set it beneath the table, before turning to glance at his mother's body. A moment passed, before he went to the nearest one. It was a beautiful cream-colored material, with a blue border about two inches in. And inside, at the top, in either corner, were two small bluebirds, holding something each in their beaks- they appeared to be names- that connected on either side with small curlicues, signaling marriage. In beautiful, delicate stitching, on the far left, were the names_ George Bowen_ and_ Isabella Fernandez_ on either side.

If Tim was reading correctly, their dates were sometime in the fourteen-hundreds, and the place of their marriage had been-

"_Spain_?" Sarah looked up, joining him.

"What did you say, Timmy?" He pointed to the two at the top.

"Look, she was from Spain." Sarah studied the two names, a small smile tugging at her lips, before moving her gaze to the other two names directly across from them. On that side, were the names_ Áine Moore_ and_ Thomas Buckley_, both also from the fourteen-hundreds. Only their place of marriage said England. As they continued to study the quilts, both realized that they were the same; two identical copies, apparently made for each child. And as they got closer to the end, Tim finally noticed the huge spaces. "More than enough space to keep the tree growing." He whispered, tears gathering in his eyes as he found him and Sarah on the first quilt. He gently brushed his fingers over his name and then his sister's before he stopped. The name several inches away from Sarah's- obviously so their spouses could be added later- caused his breath to catch in his throat.

_Sophia Anne._

A moment passed before he went back to the coolers and pulled open the table that held the body of the fetus. Glancing at the table again, he turned back to his baby sister, whispering, "Your name was S... Sophia Anne. Mama had... already decided..." Sarah choked on a sob as she found the name on hers, and covered her mouth with her hand. She met her brother's gaze, taking a deep breath. He turned back to the baby. "I'm sorry... Sophia, I'm so... _so sorry_."


	41. Chapter 41

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 36, 37 and 38; Reader for reviewing 35, 36, 37, 38 and 39.**

"Tim?" The doors to Autopsy slid open, and Ziva stepped inside; the room was dark, save for one corner, near the coolers. He sat on the ground, beside his mother's open compartment, knees to his chest. The blankets remained on the tables, spread out, revealing the names of the Bowen family members dating back to the mid-fourteen-hundreds. "_Tim_. Come on, it's time to go." He met her gaze, but stayed quiet.

"Sophia Anne." Ziva furrowed a brow, making her way towards him.

"What? What are you talking about?" He glanced at her, before returning his gaze to the floor.

"The baby that died. My baby sister. Her name was Sophia Anne." He nodded towards the tables, and Ziva glanced at the quilts, before turning back to him. "Mom had already picked out her name. Added it to the quilt. Never got to add a birthdate." He stopped, swallowing thickly. "Or a death date." He added, almost as an afterthought.

She turned back to the nearest quilt and studied it, finding the name Tim was talking about. Her fingers ghosted across the letters, before she turned away from the table. A sigh escaped her throat, and she joined him, eventually taking a seat beside him, and reaching up to brush a strand of hair off his forehead.

"I'm sorry."

He met her gaze and shrugged; the bright, beautiful light that had shone in his eyes earlier that morning, as they lay in bed, sharing coffee and scones after making love again, was gone. "Doesn't matter. She'll never grow up, never go to school, never get married. Never get a life. He took that all away from her. Just like he took it from Mom." She sighed, reaching out and taking his bandaged hand, but he pulled away. She took a deep breath, shifting onto her knees to face him.

"Sarah told me. About you making her use gloves today. I... I understand handling a crime scene, but Tim it... it was just blood, and you know for a fact that neither of us have-" He moved his gaze away from her, and suddenly Ziva understood. "It's... because of her, isn't it?" She nodded towards Emily. "Because of what you saw, when you were a kid, all that blood. _That's_ why you're so cautious around... around open wounds... because of that night. You have a fear of-" He kept silent, and Ziva knew she'd hit the nail on the head.

"_Homophobia_, otherwise known as a blood phobia. Caused by a traumatic event where blood was directly involved."

"Well, witnessing your mother's murder would certainly qualify as traumatic." She gave him a soft smile, trying to lighten the mood, but he just turned away. After a moment, she got up, going to the quilts still lying on the tables. She studied the beautiful embroidery, fingers ghosting over the material.

"Your mother was quite the artist." Silence filled the room before he got up, joining her.

"Yeah, she was." He sniffled. "I... I remember going to the fabric stores with her and... helping her pick out the thread she would use. She even taught me how to sew." He sniffled, taking a deep breath. Gently, Ziva reached up, caressing his cheek. A moment passed, before he reached out, running his fingers over the names. "They're all here- all of Mom's ancestors." He choked on a sob. "Sarah and I... we finally have _our family back_..." She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing gently as she rested her head against his shoulder. He continued to trace the names, brow furrowing every so often.

Suddenly he pulled away, picking up the top corner and studying it. "Tim? What's wrong?" But he ignored her, intently studying the corner of the quilt. After a moment, he dropped the material and hurried to Ducky's tray, grabbing a scalpel. "Tim? What are you doing with that?" She watched in horror as he gently slid through the slightly worn thread at the corner of the quilt, before running the sharp edge along the rest of the side._ "Tim!"_

But as he sliced into the material of his mother's quilt, something fell to the floor. He set the scalpel down and knelt to pick it up. "What the-" As he stood to study it in the light, Tim realized what it was.

A small emerald, about the size of a grape, dangled from a gold chain. He studied it, confused.

"Tim." But he wasn't paying attention to Ziva. "Tim-"

She reached out, grabbing his arm. He looked up. "Ziva, what's wrong?"

But all she did was pull back the blanket, revealing hundreds of pieces of jewelry sewn into the material.

* * *

"Timmy, I don't understand, what is this about Mama's jewelry?" Tim sighed, tugging on Sarah's arm.

"Dad told us that he put her jewelry in a safety deposit box that you would receive when you hit eighteen, remember?" She thought a moment, before shrugging.

"So?" He sighed, turning to her.

"Sarah, you turned eighteen _two years_ _ago_. You _never saw_ that jewelry." She stopped, biting her lower lip. He was right. She had never seen any of their mother's jewelry after she died. Their father had promptly packed it all away, as he claimed. But since the quilts had been found two days ago, it gave the siblings cause to check out their father's safety deposit box.

"Can I help you, sir?" Tim gave the clerk a quick smile as they stepped up to the counter.

"Yes, our father just passed away a few months ago,"

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Sarah gave her a small smile.

"Thank you." She nodded.

"And... before he died, he told us about a safety deposit box at this bank that our mother's jewelry was placed in for safe keeping. He told us that we would receive it upon his death." Tim bit his lip, glancing at Sarah, who leaned against her brother's shoulder. "We wanted to see it."

"Of course. What was your father's name?"

"Admiral." The woman gave him a strange look and Tim blushed. "Sorry, our father was... in the Navy and... everyone called him 'The Admiral.' Old habit." She nodded.

"No problem. We have several military personnel who bank with us. Now, what was your father's name?" He licked his lips nervously, his heart pounding in his chest.

"J... John McGee." They waited as the clerk put in the information, pulling their father's file up on her computer. Tim hoped to God that for once their father had done what he'd said and placed the jewelry in a safety deposit box-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but there's no record of your father having a safety deposit box." Tim raised an eyebrow.

"You're sure?" She nodded.

"Yes. In fact, there's no record that your father ever having a safety deposit box at this bank." As it sank in, Tim nodded, glancing at Sarah.

"Oh. Okay. Thank you." As they left the bank, Sarah turned to her brother.

"So... if Daddy... if he was lying-"

"He _was_ lying, Sarah." She sighed, sliding her arm through her brother's as they walked to Tim's car.

"Just hear me out, Timmy." He met her gaze, leaning against the car when they reached it.

"Okay, I'm listening."

"If Daddy was lying, then where is Mama's jewelry? He can't have just gotten rid of it." Tim bit his lip.

"Come on." He opened the passenger door, before moving around to get in the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?"

"You need to see something." As they drove away from the bank, he tried to think of exactly how to explain what he and Ziva had found within the first quilt.


	42. Chapter 42

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

The sound of ripping caught Sarah's attention as they walked into Autopsy. _"What the hell are you doing, Ziva? Have you lost your fucking mind?"_ She rushed to the Israeli, horrified to see her sitting at one of the autopsy tables, ripping into the second of her mother's quilts.

"Sarah-"

_"We just found those! And now you're ruining them!" _

_"Sarah!"_ She turned to her brother. "There's a good reason Ziva's cutting into the second quilt."

"A_ good reason_? Timmy, are you-" But he cut her off, gently folding back the corner that had already been cut open. Sarah's eyes widened and her mouth fell in shock. "Is that..." He nodded.

"Yeah. It's Mama's jewelry." Most of Emily's jewelry were family heirlooms passed down through the years; Tim knew that at least one pendant- the gold an amber one he rested his hand on now- dated back to the fifteen-hundreds, and had once belonged, he now knew, to Isabella. These were obviously important pieces to Emily; pieces she didn't want John getting his hands on. So she'd taken a page from the Romanov's book, and sewed her jewelry into the backs, fronts and lining of the quilts she'd been making for her children.

"So... so Mama... she..." He nodded.

"She made sure we'd be taken care of financially." He finished. Sarah curled into his chest, choking on sobs.

"I can't sell these, Timmy. This were Mama's... her... her family history... her legacy..."

"No." Sarah looked up as Ziva put the scalpel down and gently folded down the front of the blanket. "The jewelry is her family history yes, but you two are her legacy." The younger girl sniffled, swiping her nose. After a moment, Ziva moved around the table towards them. She took Sarah's hand, squeezing gently. "You are what she left behind. And she's so proud of you."

"How do you know?" Sarah choked out. Ziva sighed, tears coming to her own eyes as she thought of her own mother, dead before Ziva had even graduated high school.

"Trust me. I know." She wrapped Sarah in a hug, before going to Tim and gently taking his face in her hands. She gently brushed her fingers over his cheeks before pressing a kiss to the scar. Sarah watched, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks.

"So... what do we do now?" Tim turned to her.

"We tell Mama goodbye... on Monday morning. Like planned." She nodded, curling into his side.

* * *

"Hey, Tim. How're you doin'?" Tim shrugged, wandering over and dropping onto the stool at the counter. Ebony pulled out a glass and filled it, setting it in front of him. "What's wrong?" He grabbed the glass, taking a drink. She leaned against the counter, waiting.

"Do you remember the summer we spent in South America with Penny?"

"Your grandmother, right?" He nodded. Ebony opened a bottle of beer, taking a sip before setting it aside. "Yeah. I also remember how she took us to Brazil and we spent two weeks bouncing around Rio with her." Tim chuckled.

"And... we tried everything from _Moqueca _to tequila to _Caipirinha_?" She nodded.

"How could I forget? I climbed onto the table at the nightclub you and I were at that night and took my underwear off. You had to carry me back to the hotel-"

"Where we ended up sleeping together in the broom closet." Tim finished. Ebony blushed, glancing down at the counter and tracing the pattern on the woodwork.

"That was... the first night I ever... that I ever really... felt like I knew what making love was. I'd never experienced it before." She met Tim's gaze. "I'm glad I got to experience it with you." He ducked his head, grabbing his drink. Sensing that Tim wanted nothing more than to change the subject on Brazil, Ebony took the bait. "So, how are things going with that Israeli chick? You still sleeping with her?"

Tim rolled his eyes with a smile. It always amazed him, that _despite_ the fact that he and Ebony had slept together in Brazil back when they were in college, that one night they'd shared together never destroyed their friendship. They both looked at it as a one-time thing, a fluke, thanks to the alcohol they'd both consumed and their desire to enjoy the rest of their wild night. If anything, it made their friendship stronger, and when Ebony was raped six years ago, Tim had been able to look at her as a_ friend_ having gotten hurt, not a lover. Both agreed, that if their night together did anything, it was cement their friendship, their bond permanently. Tim looked out for Ebony- and Shanda- as the older sister he wished he'd always had, and Ebony thought of Tim as a brother, and in a sense, her savior. They were two halves of the same whole- the two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, of a friendship formed those first weeks at MIT. Tim loved both Ebony and Shanda, and couldn't imagine his life without them.

Just as he couldn't imagine his life without Ziva.

He shook his head. Ebony raised an eyebrow. "You mean you've _stopped_ sleeping with her?" He looked up at her.

"What?"

"I asked if you're still sleeping with the Israeli and you shook your head. When did you break it off?"

"Oh. No, we haven't broken it off. We're still... sleeping together." She nodded.

"So what was the head shake for? Just wanted to?" She asked, mimicking him. He chuckled, setting his empty glass down, and she pulled out a bottle, pouring another couple fingers into it. He took it back, taking a sip before replying.

"Sarah and I found Mom's jewelry today. She'd sewn it into the family tree quilts she made for us before she died. Dad had them hidden in a small ante room behind the closet in his bedroom."

"Oh, Tim, that's great." He nodded. "What's wrong?" A soft sigh escaped his throat, and he set the glass down, tracing the rim with his finger.

"We had... some of Mom's jewelry evaluated today... most of it dates back to the eighteen or seventeen hundreds. There's one pendant that dates back to the late fourteen hundreds and early fifteen hundreds. Almost all of the pieces value at over... six, seven, eight, nine thousand dollars." He took a deep breath. "That's... enough to pay off the rest of Sarah's schooling, and... the mortgage on the house, and... the car payments and... and enough to help you out with your night classes and even put some away for Shanda's college fund."

Ebony shook her head. "No, Tim. How many times do I have to tell you? I love that you offer, it's very sweet, but I don't need help. If I need help, I'll ask. But until then," She shrugged. He sighed. "Are you going to sell?"

"No. It's Mom's jewelry..." She nodded, understanding.

"What about your dad's will?" He glanced down at the glass, and Ebony shook her head.

"No. _No!_ He cut you out?"

"He cut both of us out, Eb. Sarah too." She slammed a beer can down on the counter.

_"That bastard!"_ The other patrons turned to look at her, but she ignored them. "He _can't do that_, Tim-"

"Well evidently he did. Look, it doesn't matter. Sarah and I have done fine on our own for the last several years, and we'll do fine in the next... twenty or thirty."

"But he owes you that money, Tim! He owes it to both you and Sarah!"

"He doesn't owe us anything, Ebony. And as for us owing him, well, we both owe him a thank you for bringing us into this world, but that's it." He finished his drink and stood, pulling a twenty out of his pocket and sliding it towards her. "We're interring Mom in the local cemetery in Silver Spring tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. Will you come?" She gave him a soft smile, reaching over and taking his hand.

"Of course, Tim. I wouldn't miss it." She sighed. "I'd bring Shanda, but she'll be in school." Tim shrugged.

"We'll get together after with her. Just as long as you're there." After a moment, she moved out from behind the counter, wrapping him in a hug.

"I will be there. Promise."

"I'll see you then." He then pressed a soft kiss to her lips and picked up the twenty, folding it and slipping the bill into her apron. She rolled her eyes, catching his hand and squeezing as he left.

"Hey!" He turned back. "Tell that Israeli chick of yours that I'm excited to meet her." He chuckled.

"And prepare Ziva for the tornado that is you? Why would I do that? It'll be so much more fun to watch her reaction without any warning." She flipped him off and he stuck his tongue out at her; once he was gone, she headed back behind the counter, pulling out the small cigar box that held the money Tim gave her; since he was a regular and a good friend, Tim usually paid his tab at the first of the month, the twenties he often left her were not only for her service behind the bar, but for her companionship; though she knew it had another purpose, one she hoped that she could soon return in kind.


	43. Chapter 43

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

Ziva pulled the door open; the hall was empty. After a moment, she stepped outside, looking around. As she turned to head back inside, footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned. Tim was coming up the stairs towards her, carrying a bag with something in it. She leaned against the doorframe, picking at her nails like she did when she was nervous or trying to understand something. "This is getting to be a habit."

He grinned. "Stopped by the store to pick something up." He replied, pulling out the bottle of wine and the cookies he'd picked up at the store. She grinned, reaching out to play with the buttons on his shirt.

"I guess I can forgive you for that." She whispered, pushing herself away from the doorframe and going to him. She reached up, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him, before tugging on his hand to follow her into the apartment. Once the door closed behind them, he set the cookies and the wine bottle on the counter, quickly uncorking the bottle and pouring two glasses. Ziva joined him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing herself against him. He gave her a soft smile, kissing her gently before holding out the wine.

Accepting it with a smile, she took a sip, before reaching for one of the cookies and breaking it in half. The chocolate chips had melted slightly, not that either minded. She held a half out to him, and he accepted it, pulling her closer. Minutes passed, before they settled on the sofa in the living room. Ziva had since returned the matryoshka dolls to their place on her nightstand. Once they were settled, Tim pulled her into his lap, slipping his hands beneath the grey button-down she'd taken possession of. Their lips met in soft kisses; eventually, Ziva undid his shirt and pulled it off his body, tossing it aside.

"They're interring my mom tomorrow morning at eight. It... it would mean a lot to both Sarah and I if you came." She studied his gaze, and after a moment, reached up, taking his face in her hands.

"Of course I will be there, Tim. How could I not be?" He kissed her again, deeper this time. When they finally broke the kiss, he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"You know what? I'm not really in the mood for chocolate tonight." She raised an eyebrow.

"No? Okay?" She climbed off his lap, leaning down to whisper, "Let me just cork the wine and put the cookies away and then-" Their lips met in a soft kiss and she grinned. He watched her head into the living room before following. As she closed the door to the fridge, he snuck up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. She turned to him, grinning as she leaned back against the fridge. He cocked his head to the side.

"What?" She thought a moment, before pulling him close, her lips meeting his. Her arms slid around his waist, slipping into the back pockets of his jeans as she pressed herself against him.

"Nothing." She whispered, breaking the kiss. "I'm just dying to feel you inside me." She bit her lip, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom.

* * *

She let out a soft moan as he gently ran his tongue over the hard bud of her nipple, her head tilting back as she tangled his fingers in his hair. His hands moved up and down her back, pulling her closer. The bed was a complete mess of rumpled blankets and pillows but neither cared. When he pulled away to kiss her, she untangled one hand from his hair and reached down, stroking him. At her stimulation, he hardened, and after a moment, she broke the kiss to slowly slide herself onto him. A moan of pleasure escaped her throat as she adjusted to his length, and after several minutes, she met his gaze, kissing him deeply before pushing him back onto the bed.

She couldn't help giggling, and Tim reached up, tangling a hand in her wild curls and tugging her mouth to his. But suddenly she cut the kiss short, sitting up to adjust. A soft groan worked its way from his throat as she adjusted and she felt her heart begin flip. She shifted again, swaying her hips gently from side to side, finally, she had in completely within her, and she seemed to relax. After a moment, she leaned down, kissing him softly before settling on his chest. It was these moments, when they lay joined together, relishing the feel of being so close, so linked in such a way.

Eventually, they both sat up; his back was against the headboard, and she was nestled comfortably in his lap. He slid his hands up her sides and gently brushed his thumbs over her nipples as they once more started their dance. Instinctively, she arched her back, before grabbing onto one of his hands and guiding his touch down her body. She brushed those beautiful, long fingers over the curls of her pubic hair, and he pulled away, knowing what she wanted. Before she could say a word, he slid his fingers within the folds, finding the tiny bundle of nerves, and gently rolled it between his fingers as she kept moving against him.

A lust-filled moan escaped her throat as she tilted her head back, and minutes passed before every inch of her exploded in desire. He followed seconds after, and as they caught their breath, she straightened and met his gaze. He chuckled softly, giving her a soft smile that she returned. "Hey."

"Hi." She bit her lower lip, suddenly nervous. He watched her, before gently trailing his finger along the bottom edge of her lower lip, causing her to release it. Once the soft skin was free, he brushed his lips against hers in a tender kiss that ended with him gently tugging on it. Minutes passed, as he continued to tug on her lower lip, teeth moving with gentle pressure against the inner skin of her mouth. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He pulled her closer, and after several minutes, they started all over again.


	44. Chapter 44

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Thanks to CALLEN37 for reviewing 41; Sazzita for reviewing 43; Reader for reviewing 40, 41, 42 and 43.**

He stepped back into the bedroom after having gotten dressed and made the coffee.

She lay sound asleep on the bed; curled against his pillow, her hair wild and tangled after their night of passion. He made his way around the bed, setting first the plate of cookies beside her phone before adding the cup. Then, he straightened and moved back around the bed, heading for the door when he stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he turned around and heading towards the side of the bed. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Straightening, he turned and slipped through the house, shutting the door softly behind him before heading to his car.

As he climbed into his car, he glanced at the clock, feeling dread begin to harden in his stomach. In three and a half hours, he and Sarah would be burying their mother for the second time. He barely survived burying her the first time, twenty-eight years ago, how the _hell _was he expected to survive doing it a second time? The first burial had been bad enough, with not knowing how or really understanding why she died, but now that he and Sarah knew the truth- that their father had caused the death of their baby sister- a sister neither knew they had- and then murdered their mother before covering up her death by saying it was suicide- well, that would only make it harder on them both.

What made it worse, though, was that the bastard would never see trial; you couldn't take someone to court that was dead.

At least he and Sarah had NCIS, and Ebony, and... Ziva. They had all been so understanding through this whole ordeal, so willing to help, and give comfort. But what meant most to both him and Sarah, was that they hadn't given pity, like they'd gotten when they were children. They were treated as adults, as logical human beings who didn't need to be tiptoed around for fear of being set off.

He sighed. And while he was grateful to Ziva for being around, he needed time to think, to sort out where he and Sarah went from there, what they were supposed to do with their lives now.

And he couldn't figure it out if he was still in her apartment.

* * *

It was raining, lightly, but still, raining.

Tim sighed, studying the stones now residing in the cemetery plot. Penny had arranged for the baby to also have a small headstone, but how she'd come up with the money was a mystery. Until Tim was called up to Vance's office. It was then that he found out that the rest of the employees at NCIS had chipped in and bought the two plots when they found out about Tim's mother and sister. The gesture had touched both Tim and Sarah.

"Hey, Timmy." He gave Amy a small smile and she joined him, Sarah following with Penny behind her, talking softly with Emma. Over the next several minutes, Gibbs and Tony showed up with Abby in her black lace dress and parasol, hair in buns. She held onto her tape recorder with her Jazz music, and wrapped him in a tight hug when she reached him. Vance soon came walking up with Ducky and Palmer, and after a moment, Ziva followed, in a simple black dress and matching pumps, the top of her hair pulled back in a ponytail, the lower half flowing down her back. She went to Sarah, wrapping the college girl in a hug before going to Tim and doing the same. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, resting her forehead to his momentarily before pulling away. When she pulled away, Tim moved past her, going to a young woman with dark, chocolate-colored skin.

Without a word, the woman went to Tim, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders. She held tight to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. As he pulled away, Ziva finally got a good look at her before Sarah made her way towards them. She was very pretty; her dark curls- held back with a headband- bounced around her face, and she wore a simple white blouse and black pair of dress pants. A twinge of jealousy slid up Ziva's back.

The interment was a quiet affair. Sarah and Tim stood together with their cousins and Penny, watching in silence as they lowered their mother and baby sister's coffins into the ground. When it was finished, Vance invited the others all back to NCIS; they could have the conference room, and Gibbs's team could join them; essentially, Vance was allowing the team the day off. As they all stared to leave, Ziva looked back; Sarah was with the mystery woman, but it was Tim she was worried about.

He was kneeling in front of his mother's headstone, holding onto the edges, forehead resting against the cool granite. His soft sobs tore at Ziva's heart; he'd been through so much in the last few months, relived such trauma, discovered so many buried secrets within his own family tree that he probably didn't know what was truth and what was fiction anymore. Sarah was curled in the other woman's arms; tears streaming down her cheeks, as the older woman stroked her back and rocked gently back and forth.

This whole ordeal had nearly destroyed them both.

After a moment, Ziva made her way towards Tim; cautiously, she knelt beside him, watching, letting him grieve. Eventually, she reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. He shifted, meeting her gaze. "Oh, Tim..." He didn't say a word as he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. She tightened her grip on his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as she held him close.


	45. Chapter 45

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

"Thanks for coming today, Eb. I don't... I don't think I'd have been able to get through that without you." She glanced up as he took a seat at his usual place at the bar. A soft smile graced her lips, and she reached out to squeeze his hand before setting a drink in front of him.

"No problem, Tim. You're my best friend." The clinked glasses, before she set her beer down and bit her lip. "So... that woman today... the one in the black dress with the long dark hair..." He met her gaze as he lowered his glass.

"That was Ziva." Ebony nodded.

"She's pretty." He thought a moment, nodding.

"Yeah, pretty dangerous." The bartender cocked her head to the side.

"Why do you say that?" Their gazes locked, and he sighed.

"Ziva was... a control officer. For Mossad, for years. She resigned about... eight years ago or so and became an American citizen and... then became an agent."

Ebony whistled, impressed. "Mossad? Wow. So she must be like... what? Some sort of crazy ninja chick if she was with Mossad, right?" Tim shrugged, nodding as he picked up his glass again.

"I'd say she's more a... female James Bond." Seconds passed in silence before Ebony burst into laughter, imagining the woman she'd seen that day getting into all the situations James Bond did in the movies. "Hey, just ask Tony; she terrorizes him on a daily basis." He chuckled softly, watching as Ebony quickly fixed a drink and slid it down the counter towards another customer. "How's Shandy doing?" She met his gaze.

"Shanda's doing good." Only immediate "family" called Ebony's six-year-old daughter 'Shandy'- her parents, Penny, Sarah, herself and of course, Tim. Since her somewhat... _forced_ conception six years earlier, Shanda had proven to be the one good thing to come out of her mother's rape. The child had given Ebony a reason to break ties with the party crowd she had- through college and her years after dropping out- run with. Since Shanda's birth, she'd gotten back on the straight and narrow, going back to school for psychology and bartending to make ends meet. Occasionally Tim would help out, but oftentimes, Ebony asked for moral support, not financial. Tim was happy to give both. "She keeps asking when she can spend time playing _Call of Duty_ with her god daddy." Tim rolled his eyes. "Are you _trying_ to turn my daughter into a sniper?"

"Hey, it's not my fault she likes the video game." They lapsed into silence for several minutes before Ebony leaned on the bar.

"Tim, are you in love with Ziva?" He started, sitting back in shock. His glass kissed the counter loudly, and his green eyes widened in horror.

"Um... Ebony, have you lost your mind?" She glared at him.

"It's a simple question, Tim. Do you love her?" He scoffed, shaking his head.

"I can't believe this. And for your information, no, I don't love her." Ebony raised an eyebrow.

"_Really? Are you sure_? Because you _act_ like you're in love with her." He narrowed his eyes.

"_Yes_, I'm_ sure_. And I do not_ act_ like I'm in love with Ziva." The bartender's response was to laugh. _"Oh shut up, Ebony!"_

"I'm sorry, Tim..." She struggled to catch her breath through her laughter. "But... but you act... like I did... when I was with... Sam..."

"_Hey_!" She met his gaze. "I'm _nothing_ like that jackass." She nodded, taking his hand and squeezing.

"I know. You're better." And then she leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Just... consider it as a possibility before you end... whatever this is with her, okay?" He sighed, meeting her gaze before rolling her eyes and returning the kiss. When they parted, the door to the bar closed, and Tim looked up to see Ziva coming down the length of the bar towards him.

"Hi." He met her gaze, taking another sip from his glass, silent. Ebony watched the interaction as she quickly wiped down the table.

"You must be Ziva. Tim's told me a lot about you. I'm Ebony." She held out her hand, which Ziva took after a moment. The woman's forwardness took her by surprise, but then again, she could just be being friendly.

"Yes, I am Ziva. Nice to meet you." She glanced at Tim, but he kept his gaze on the hardwood counter, swirling the ice in his glass. "You mind, Tim?" He looked up at her.

"Go ahead." After a moment, she took a seat beside him, watching intently out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to kick herself. She'd come into the bar, hoping on some off chance that Tim would still be here, wanting to see what it was like, and yet... this was Tim's place; where he could have a drink with Ebony and talk about the day, or reminisce about their shared college years. Where he could joke with her, and she with him. And Ziva had intruded.

"Maybe I should go-" She started to get up, but Ebony laid a hand on her wrist.

"No, stay. It's nothin' you've done. Tim's just pouting because I called him out on something he doesn't want to believe." The two former roommates shared a glance, an entire conversation passing between them in seconds, and Ziva watched, confused.

"About what?" Neither said a word; Ebony returned to fixing drinks, setting one in front of the Israeli before leaning against the bar.

"I saw you at the interment today. Was nice of you and the rest of Tim's team to show up." Ziva took a sip of her drink, brow furrowing at the flavor, before she licked her lips and met Ebony's gaze.

"Tim is not just any partner." She set the drink aside; Ebony's gaze narrowed, and she pursed her lips but kept quiet. "Even if we were not partners any longer, if something were to happen to him, or... if he were to be murdered," She glanced at her lover. "I would hunt down his killed and avenge him." The agents locked eyes for several seconds, before Tim lowered his gaze, going back to nursing his drink. Ebony watched the exchange, noting how Tim refused to hold Ziva's gaze. After a moment, the Israeli picked up her drink again went to take another sip, but stopped. She studied the contents in the glass before setting it aside once more.

"What's wrong? You don't like it? Or... don't tell me... you're one of those crazy Jews who doesn't drink."

"I drink, I just... I'm not a fan of... whatever you made." Tim cleared his throat, and Ziva turned to him. He slid his hand across his neck, telling her to be quiet. She furrowed her brow, and he continued, this time cocking his head to the side in an obvious warning of_ Don't insult the bartender_.

"Well, what would you like?" Ebony asked, picking up the glass and dumping it in the sink. "I can make you anything." She turned back to the agent. "Besides... dropping out of school and burying myself in debt, bartending seems to be the only thing I'm good at. So what can I get you?" Tim lowered his glass.

_"Don't do that_! God, Eb, how many times do I _have_ to _tell you?_ If you'll let me, I'll gladly help with your debts! I've offered and you've never taken. And as for you dropping out of MIT... well, that's your fault." She threw a lemon wedge at him as she fixed something for Ziva, and he pulled back, picking it up off the counter and throwing it back at her. She squealed, breaking out in laughter before tossing the wedge in the trash.

Ziva watched the interaction, drinking every detail in. They acted like siblings did; picking on each other, talking with each other, sharing stories of their teenage years at school. It was almost as if they were twins, separated at birth and sent on completely different paths before reuniting again; that old familiarity was there, as though only seconds had separated them, not years. "Here ya go." She set the drink in front of Ziva before leaning over the counter. "And you know I hate it when you lord that degree over my head."

"That's why I do it, because it annoys the hell out of you." He replied, kissing her quickly on the lips. Ebony pulled away, putting the liquor she'd used to mix Ziva's drink away. "Shandy wants to see _Frozen_. I've already gone with her once, but she wants to see it again. Wanted me to ask if her god daddy would take her." Tim wrinkled his nose.

"Seriously? I took her two weeks ago! You'd think she'd be tired of it already." Ebony shook her head.

"Nope. She's not. But- and I have nothing against Disney or Idina Menzel, I think she's sickeningly talented- but I swear to _God_, if I hear _Let It Go_ one more time, I'm gonna cut my own ears off and serve them up for dinner." Tim chuckled, rolling his eyes. At the image carved up, Ziva snorted softly, causing the bartender to glance at her. She gave the former Israeli a small smile.

Tim sighed, setting his glass down and pulled out a twenty, setting it on the table. "Fine. I'll take her. But if she asks me to sing_ Do You Want to Build A Snowman?_ on the way home, I'm dumping her on the side of the interstate and you can come pick her up." Ziva had since finished her drink, and gotten off her stool, waiting for Tim to join her. Ebony rolled her eyes, before picking up the twenty as he stood.

"Fine. Deal."


	46. Chapter 46

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: This one should be done soon. And if I don't post as often, it's because I've just started classes for a degree in forensic psychology and forensic profiling. I'm hoping I'll be able to get a degree and then, what I want to do is one day work for either NSA, FBI, CIA or NCIS, helping to track and capture terorrists. **

**Thanks to Sazzita for reviewing 45; alix33 for reviewing 35, 36, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43 and 45; and Reader for reviewing 44 and 45.**

"She seems nice. Ebony." Tim nodded; they stood in the hallway to her apartment, having agreed to meet there after leaving the bar. Tim had arrived first, and Ziva had come up the stairs minutes later to see him leaning against the wall by the door, hands in his pockets. She'd gone to him, sliding her arms around his waist and kissed him.

Now though, he thought back to the girl who had quickly become his best friend those first months at MIT. At first, they'd gotten along like tigers and zebras, but after a while, they'd soon found that they did share quite a few things in common. Ebony often brought him out of his shell, and he oftentimes, reeled her back in. Those two years Ebony was at MIT, they'd stuck together like glue. And after a few years apart, their reconnecting had been almost as if they'd never lost touch.

"She is." He sighed, shifting his weight as he buried his hands in his pockets. Ziva turned back to him, confused. "She certainly deserves better than the hand she's been dealt in life, that's for sure." Tim replied as they entered the apartment, quickly shutting the door and locking it. She turned to him, running a hand up his chest and caressing his neck. She searched his gaze, realizing that he was exhausted, emotionally, psychologically and mentally.

"It's nice that you're there for her, Tim. And her daughter." He shrugged, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her close.

His words were soft, but the meaning behind them, the depth of his friendship for the dark-skinned, blunt, curly-haired bartender, was loud and clear. He loved Ebony, for the fact that she would never lie to him, would always be objective- if with a slight bias in his favor- and never told him that he couldn't do anything he set his mind to. And that fact that Shanda was Ebony's daughter only made their bond stronger, for Tim absolutely loved the little girl. She was his goddaughter, after all. "She's my best friend." Ziva nodded in understanding. She searched his gaze for a moment, before pulling away.

"Wine?" He removed his jacket, laying it over an arm of the sofa.

"Do you even need to ask that now?"

"No, but I figured I should." She poured them each a glass, watching as he wandered into the kitchen, stopping a foot from her and leaning against the surface. As she pushed his wine glass towards him and took a sip of hers, she realized he was studying her. "What?"

"Did I ever thank you? For coming today?" She set her glass down.

"You don't have to thank me, Tim, you know that. I would have been there either way." She went to him, laying her hands on his chest. "You're my partner, and I love you." Her gaze met his, and he sighed. He really wished she hadn't used the L word. In his family, it had very bad connotations.

"We really are the Dollangangers; one fucked up family." Ziva pulled away, confused. "Might as well just call us the Dresden Dolls."

"What?" He met her gaze, and then, took a deep breath, giving her a small smile. She cocked her head, brow furrowing, but he shook his head, giving her a quick smile.

"Never mind."

A moment passed, before he kissed her softly, pulling her close. Her arms slid around his neck, and she pressed herself against him, instantly feeling him begin to harden against her. Their lips met in another kiss, before Ziva felt his hands slip beneath the skirt of her dress and pull it up. Once she was out of it, he tossed it aside, leaving her in only her black lingerie.

She pulled away, working on his shirt and removing it before working on his pants. He hardened even further as her fingers brushed over him, and he pulled her into his embrace, mouth meeting hers.

* * *

Only the sound of soft kisses filled the air, followed by the occasional rumpling of sheets or brush of skin coming together. They lay within the blankets of Ziva's bed, tangled in each others' arms, focused on only that moment. She tilted her head back, letting out a soft moan as he worked on her throat, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slid her arms around him, grasping at his back, her nails leaving small crescent moons within his skin.

Gently, almost reverently, Tim brushed a kiss to the Star of David Ziva wore, before meeting her gaze. He searched her dark eyes, looking for what, he wasn't sure. But after several moments, he found what he wanted, and gently caught her lips in a deep kiss. As they continued to tangle in the sheets, Ebony's words came rushing back to him.

_Don't you ever think this might be more than just casual sex? It sounds a lot to me like you're in love with her._

He took a deep breath, pushing her into the pillows as he deepened the kiss. She wrapped her arms tight around him, groaning in delight as he drove himself deeper into her. She dug her nails further into his back, arching her back as they finally reached their climax, surrendering completely to each other. As they came down from their high, with the satisfied hum working its way through their still joined bodies, he nudged his nose against hers, searching her gaze.

"I love you, Ziva." She gently reached up, cradling his head in her hands, before giving him a soft smile and kissing him deeply.


	47. Chapter 47

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: And here's the conclusion to Blood and Bones. The song I used for inspiration is called _Blood and Bones_ by Elenowen, and there's a McGiva video with the song on Youtube you can check out. Just a suggestion.**

She slammed the door to her mini cooper, making the now-familiar trek through the cemetery. He was right where she knew he'd be. But instead of speaking up or going to him, she settled on a memorial bench under a tree, not far from the grave, watching and listening. He covered the flowers with gravel before brushing the dirt off his hands and sitting back.

"Hi Mama." Gently, he reached out to trace her name, tears coming to his eyes. "I... I'm sorry I haven't been able to... make it lately. Work has been... psychotic and... I... I know ten months is a long time to stay away, but... life hasn't exactly given me a lot of free time to come up here... we've finally gotten everything straightened out with the house in Alexandria, and Sarah and I had to figure out how to settle Dad's debts, but... I know you haven't been entirely abandoned. Sarah told me she's been coming by to visit even when I can't." He sighed. "She graduates early, Mama. with a BA in English Lit. Intends to be a writer. And... we... we've decided that... we're gonna collaborate. Write a book. About... about you."

She watched as he took a deep breath and reached up, most likely to swipe at the moisture on his cheeks. After a moment, she pulled out a book, turning her attention to the words on the pages, but leaving one ear open to listen.

"Sarah and I... we... we're gonna call it... well, we're thinking of calling it... _'Buried Secrets: A Mother's Murder, A Father's Shameful, Deadly Secret, and Their Children's Search for the Truth'_... or something to that affect. Sarah and I haven't decided yet." He stopped, thinking. "We found your jewelry. In your quilts. Sarah and I... we divided it up; they're in safety deposit boxes where they belong. Thank you."

After a moment, he reached up, pulling something out of his shirt. "I... I decided to keep this. Remember it? It's your medallion." He studied the small disc, sniffling. "I'm not traveling right now and... I just... it let's me know that you're close." He glanced at his sister's grave. "That you're both close by and that I can come see you whenever I want." He let the medallion fall to his chest, and rubbed his hands on his thighs. "I... I have some... exciting news. More exciting than Sarah graduating early, if you can believe that." He sniffled, glancing down at his hand.

A strained chuckle escaped his throat as he struggled to figure out how to explain what had gone on in the last few months since her murder had been solved and her cause of death changed to homicide. So much had happened that he didn't fully believe any of it was real. And his decision to write a book on his mother's murder had been the tipping point. Of course, when Sarah found out, she'd begged to help, and after some debate, the siblings had agreed to write it together, giving their mom back the legacy she'd been so cruelly ripped from. If they couldn't give her back her life, or their lost years without her, the least they could do- as her children- was give her back her name. He took a deep, shaky breath.

"Ziva and I got married twelve weeks ago; she's my coworker and... she's an _absolute_ spitfire. Speaks her mind, gets her idioms wrong, collects knives and loves to cook, especially with wine. You'd love her, I know it." He shook his head, thinking. "Not that she can touch the wine now. And she won't be able to touch it for the next few weeks or so; she isn't too happy about that, but what can you do?" He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I... I'm gonna be a daddy." A strangled sob escaped his throat, and he soon felt her hand on his shoulder. He reached up, covering her hand with his. "Really soon. And we've already decided on a name."

"Tim?" He didn't say a word to her; instead, he just leaned close, resting his forehead to the stone.

"I love you, Mama." Then, he stood, taking her hand as they left.

* * *

The child rushed from the window and out of the house, bounding down the steps towards the people getting out of the car. _"Uncle Tim!"_

He came around the car, kneeling down and scooping her up once she got close enough. "There's she is! How's my Shandy?" He settled to child on his hip, and she giggled as he gently tapped her nose.

"Good." He grinned, pressing a kiss to her head. "Can we play _COD_?" He thought a moment, glancing at her mother. Ebony leaned against the open doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She rolled her eyes, chuckling. In that time since Emily's case had been closed and her body interred in the cemetery in Silver Spring with Sophia, Tim and Sarah had surprised Ebony with keys to her own small house in Silver Spring- they'd chipped in, and the home was a silent thank you to her for always having their backs and being there when they needed her. She'd protested, but Tim had told her that the only thing she needed to do to pay them both back was make the most of her life and take good care of Shanda. So far, she'd been able to keep her promise.

Tim turned back to his goddaughter. "Maybe. If Mama says it's okay." The girl nodded, her dark curls bouncing. Tim chuckled, pressing a kiss to the girl's soft, beautiful caramel skin. Thanks to her father- or, her "sperm donor" as Ebony called the bastard that had raped her- being white and her mother black, the child was a gorgeous mixture that both Ebony and Tim doted on. After a moment, the child pressed a quick kiss to Tim's lips, before wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. But her eyes widened and she gasped in excitement.

"_Auntie Ziva_!" Shanda reached out for the woman, who shut the door and joined her husband, but Tim shook his head. Over the last several months, Ziva and Ebony had gotten to be good friends, which only made Tim's life harder since both women often ganged up on him, but he didn't mind.

"No, Shandy. You're just a little too heavy for Aunt Ziva right now." His wife glared at him, and the child turned to her adoptive aunt.

"Oh, Tim, you're being ridiculous." Ziva swatted him gently on the shoulder and reached for the child. "Come here, Shay." The child wrapped her arms tight around Ziva's shoulders, and after several minutes, she set the girl down. As they followed the girl up the steps and into the living room, Ebony caught Tim by the wrist and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"So, how's the little one doing?" Tim shrugged, going to his wife. She stood looking through the books on Ebony's bookshelf, trailing her finger along the spines.

"You'll have to ask my wife, she's the one at twenty-eight weeks." He replied, jumping when Ziva swatted him with a glare. He chuckled. "Baby's doing fine. Strong and healthy." He glanced at Ziva, who nodded. "And we wanted to ask you something, Eb."

"I thought you said everything was fine?" She took a seat on the sofa; Shanda climbed up next to her, a small stack of Oreos in her hands. She handed one to her mother, who took it absentmindedly.

"It is, but Ziva and I wanted to know if you would be our little girl's godmother." Ebony's mouth dropped in shock, and she struggled to think of something to say. After a moment, she got up, going to them.

"A little girl?" Ziva nodded, laying her hands on her belly.

"We found out today." Gently, Ebony reached out, laying her hands on Ziva's stomach; the baby kicked, and she couldn't help but chuckle. It had been seven years since she'd felt her own daughter kick and move inside her, and she'd forgotten what the sensation felt like. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she met Ziva's gaze.

"Of course I will! How could I not be?" She hugged them both, before scooping Shanda up, who'd joined them. Tim wrapped his arms around Ziva, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Good. Because even if you'd said no, there was no way I was going to let our little Emily grow up without Aunt Ebony in her life." He gently began to rub his wife's belly, chuckling softly as the baby kicked in response to her father's voice.

"Emily?" Ebony asked, meeting Tim's gaze. He nodded, giving his best friend a soft smile, that the bartender immediately understood. He swallowed the lump in his throat, before managing to choke out,

"Yeah. Emily Sophia."


End file.
